


Living in a Crazy Parallel World

by YuriKah



Series: Our Crazy World History [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hope's Peak Academy (Dangan Ronpa), Alternate Universe - No Killing Game (Dangan Ronpa), Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Canon-Typical Violence, Comedy, Drama, Established Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, Everybody Lives, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Iruma Miu Being Iruma Miu, Iruma Miu's Dirty Mouth, Kaede Too, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mikan Not So Much, Nice Enoshima Junko, Non-Despair Enoshima Junko, Oma Kokichi Being Oma Kokichi, Past Sexual Abuse, Plot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Sayaka Has Some Stuff to Work Out, Slice of Life, Yuri
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:55:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 66,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27551896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YuriKah/pseuds/YuriKah
Summary: "Wow, another attempt at giving us another AU where we have a peaceful school life? That's plainly unoriginal.""Kokichi, just what the hell is she saying?""Ignore her, Kaito, Tsumugi's doing the thing where she pretends she's breaking the Fourth Wall."Kaede is trapped under the weight of her responsibilities.Mukuro can't move forward while the past has a hold of her.Mikan is shown how to value herself from an unlikely source.Sayaka can't decide if she should follow her heart, or stay the course.But they're all strong enough to find the answers they need. Eventually.Romance orientated. Fic mostly follows the main three couples, with some POV and diary-entry chapters for perspective/plot/development of our beloved secondary characters.
Relationships: Akamatsu Kaede & Harukawa Maki, Akamatsu Kaede & Saihara Shuichi, Akamatsu Kaede/Iruma Miu, Chabashira Tenko/Yumeno Himiko, Enoshima Junko & Ikusaba Mukuro, Enoshima Junko/Tsumiki Mikan, Fukawa Touko/Naegi Komaru, Harukawa Maki/Momota Kaito, Hinata Hajime/Nanami Chiaki, Ikusaba Mukuro/Maizono Sayaka, Iruma Miu & Oma Kokichi, Kirigiri Kyoko & Saihara Shuichi, Kuzuryu Fuyuhiko/Pekoyama Peko, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi, Sonia Nevermind/Tanaka Gundham
Series: Our Crazy World History [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2013937
Comments: 20
Kudos: 87





	1. Prologue: The Ides of March

**_Present day, Calendar 2, 15th March, 10:16 PM…_ **

The blood was pouring down Mukuro’s right arm. The limb hung uselessly by her side; wrist twisted unnaturally. Pain sparked in waves, every nerve screaming from bicep to fingertip.

Mukuro focused on her breathing. 

She could hear the droplets patter onto the grimy tiles of the apartment complex. 

Her vision was wavy. Everything was distorted like broken glass smeared in blood. The stinging wouldn’t stop.

_‘Just breathe. You can still feel it. The arm isn’t gone. You won’t bleed out. Don’t panic. Panic makes it worse.’_

The Remington ACR in her left hand was useless now. She cursed under her breath and cast the rifle aside. It clattered and slid against a door in front of her. She pulled a P99 from the side holster on her right. She allowed the magazine to slide out. Nine bullets.

Nine bullets.

 _'I’ll need seven. Leaves me with two.'_

Mukuro’s dealt with worse.

Not the pain though. She’s never been shot before. Always been too good for that. Always too precise. Always too skilled.

She emitted a bitter laugh. 

“Serves me right, when was the last time I went to the range?”

She clasped the magazine back into the pistol with her palm, pushing down from the other end with her jaw to properly load it. She pulled back the slide with her teeth. 

One last breath and she’d blind fire. Draw him out or supress him enough to get a bead on him. 

Nine bullets. One good arm. 

“I’m coming…Mikan.”


	2. The Sisters and the Nurse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikan is all by her lonesome. She doesn't expect a pair of sisters to interrupt that.
> 
> WARNING: Some reference to Sexual Abuse, PTSD.

**_Calendar 1, September 26th:_ **

The morning wasn’t as pleasant as the forecast had suggested. Dark clouds hung in the sky, obfuscating the sun; its light a dull grey that cast a malaise over the grounds of Hope’s Peak Academy. It gave everything a lifeless and weary atmosphere, the day caught toeing that fine line between twilight and dawn. It reflected well in everyone present within the grounds, hands catching insubordinate yawns and half-lidded eyes that benefitted from a lack of dazzling light shimmering through the hallways for once. 

Everyone except Mikan, of course. Mikan was in her happy place. Mikan was in the one place where she felt safe and secure, no matter if it was in isolation or in company. A place where she held absolute power and authority. A place where her expertise was recognised and sought after. The Nurse’s Office. As the Ultimate Nurse, this place all but belonged to her. While it would usually be staffed by verified Nurses with actual degrees and experience operating in chaotic wards or at a Highschool level previously, Mikan’s de facto superiority in skill meant that in here, if nowhere else, she sat at the top of the hierarchy. Nobody offered any opposition to the idea. An unpaid, world-class Nurse who never so much as made a peep about working conditions, wages, pension, or equipment wasn’t going to be turned down. Besides, Mikan was the best of the best and Hope’s Peak always cultivated the skills of its students so that their options would be limitless upon graduation. It was almost like her work taking care of the scrapes and cut knees of the student body was compensation for being here to start with. Not that Hope’s Peak ever struggled with financing. If they did, or they needed to scrounge up some money from somewhere, there would always be an Ultimate Accountant or prodigy (like Byakuya Togami) who could find someway to fill the coffers once more. No, they always made sure equipment was plentiful and up to date, and regularly asked Mikan to update a requisition order for anything she needed that they didn’t have. The position was Mikan’s, and here she felt important. Needed. Safe from harm. It wasn’t a feeling she was used to. Not even a feeling she particularly welcomed.

Mikan wiped up and down the white walls of the Nurse’s office with Lemon scented bleach wipes. She performed the duty with a meticulous repetition, hopping on stools, tables and boxes (all of which would then be wiped down themselves), stretching to her full height to get right into those _pesky_ corners that seemed excessive and unnecessary to clean, but not to Mikan. Everything had to be as clean physically possible. She wasn’t a germophobe or a particularly anal neat freak, but wounds could get infected and she never took that risk. The aroma she found to be pleasant enough, even if it were so tangy that she could feel it in the back of her throat. Regardless, it was more pleasant and less offensive than regular bleach upon the senses. Mikan always thought about her patients and their comfort. It wasn’t just about the Hippocratic Oath to her. It extended beyond that. Mikan wanted the Nurse’s Office to project a feeling of safety and reassurance. If it seemed daunting, or dangerous, then somebody who needed treatment might convince themselves that they really didn’t need a check-up and would push it off. That always came with scary complications, always making the subsequent procedure more invasive and potentially dangerous to their life. It might have been pragmatic, even cynically practical, but Mikan only wanted to help. To be of use to somebody, no matter what form that might come in. Mikan had once or twice tried to request the latitude to paint the walls yellow. The colour was always nice and warm, and it was excellent in making people feel at ease. It was also easier on the eyes than white, especially when the days were sunnier. She always ended up succumbing to tears, or failing to knock on the Principal’s office, or crumpling up the letter she was going to send and throwing it in the bin under her desk. Failed or not, her only intention was to help others. An altruistic selflessness well-suited to a Nurse of her standards. She even bought a small blue-tooth radio that sat atop the window sill in between the beds of the righthand-side ward with her own school stipend so that if students who had to stay longer could entertain themselves with whatever music they had on their phone. Mikan didn’t want to subject them to her tastes. They would hate it. Hate her choices and preferences. They didn’t need her trying to do more than she should as a Nurse, but if they wanted some form of relief in the recognisable, she could supply that with the radio. 

She had a personal mantra she always followed when it came to her duties, a self-imposed dogma to improve her service and make the student body understand she was there to help and support: Clean Needles and Happy Smiles! It was fairly self-explanatory: keep all equipment to a rigorous hygiene standard, never reuse anything that didn’t have to be, sanitise every square inch of the three-ward set up and endeavour that everybody who left the Nurse’s office did so with a smile, knowing they had been offered the best care possible. That was Mikan’s duty, and she took- however small it was- some pride in it. 

She found herself by the desk at the front of the room, to the left of the door that led to the hallway. There were stacks of medical journals, incident reports and absentee forms that she had _yet again_ failed to properly file so that students wouldn’t be marked down as failing to turn up with a valid reason. They were all splayed out across her desk without any real sense of organisation. Paperwork was probably Mikan’s least favourite part of the job. It was time-consuming and boring. She would always write down a registration number wrong or place an accidental zero on the end of an order that would comically end with the school receiving an overabundance of a singular item. The school had suggested hiring on or holding interviews with students that would be better suited to that kind of work, but Mikan always refused, however meekly. The presence of another in her small haven in the corner of the Academy was daunting. And holding a position of authority over them in the context of superior and subordinate was uncomfortable just to think about. Mikan sighed, trying to shake her head free of those thoughts. She began her little habit of inspecting the needles she had earmarked as the set she would use today if needed. Rarely ever did they see action and if they did it was in the most mundane of circumstances. Still, the mantra dictated she do this. Mikan found cleaning the needles, even if they were spotless, brought her some sense of relaxation. Her troubles melted away as her delicate fingers wrapped the cloth around the pointed metal of the syringe, motioning back and forth for around half a minute before she would proceed to the next. It was her morning ritual, something simple and predictable that gave her comfort. She wondered why it did though. Wondered if maybe it had anything to do with how she was made to wrap her hands around men’s- 

_‘N-No…bad thoughts. Stay away. Not here…’_

Mikan sighed again and caught herself as her hands were already balling up the loose ends of her long, choppy, dark purple tresses. It was a usual response when she thought about something she didn’t want to. A personal tick when her anxiety would get the better of her. A holdover from when she was small and when bullies would pull her hair, tear chunks out and violently attack her hair with safety scissors that didn’t so much sheer as they did _yank_ and _rip_ whatever strand they were aiming for. The memory always inspired tears. Her hands always went numb, apart from the tiny tremor in her fingers. 

Mikan was always the target for abuse, something about her drew that out of people. She had just come to accept that some people in the world were pushovers, who existed to make everyone feel better. And better to be abused than ignored. If somebody abused you, they needed you for that purpose. It meant a person had value, even if they were trash. If you were ignored, then you didn’t even deserve to live. You were a shadow of a person, a leech, offering nothing and taking everything that didn’t belong to you. 

Truth be told, Mikan wasn’t used to her hair being this long. Naturally the unevenness was a memento of a checkered past she desperately wanted to repress into the recesses of her mind, out of sight, where it could grow old and unnurtured, so untouched it grew cobwebs until it all but faded from reality. Nevertheless, the length it reached to, all the way down her back, was evidence enough she hadn’t suffered recently from that particular torture. Hope’s Peak Academy had quite the strict code when it came to bullying. And the penance was usually very harsh for offenders of that crime. It was a unique environment that Mikan had never experienced before. Not in her home life. Not at any previous school. Not even in civic society. Here there were boundaries and everyone, no matter the skill or talent or bloodline, had to obey them. The school provided discipline and civility. Naturally, they knew they were fostering proud individuals with exceptional skills at adolescence. Even a normal high school was a jungle that had to play around the nuance of its own rules, Hope’s Peek was no different. There had to be room for playfulness, excitement, and liberty to make mistakes. But some things crossed a line. The absence of physical abuse was...strange for Mikan. It wasn’t necessarily a good thing. She always felt people were watching her. Waiting for an excuse, waiting for her to let her guard down or for the senior staff to be looking the other way. It played havoc with her anxiety, it wrecked her nerves and some nights she couldn’t sleep at all. She may have found meaning and purpose in providing care, hoping her usefulness would be a buffer so that the school and students would see reason enough to stay their hands.

But she was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. For there to be some reason for it to all start again. Life here had been too perfect. She had a room all to herself. A dorm with her classmates who always asked if she wanted to _“hang out”_ or spend time with them, attentive teachers who always offered constructive advice and told her to be more outgoing and confident in herself and her abilities, reassuring her a strong and stable career was waiting for her in Nursing. She even had _friends_ and part of her _hated_ that she was sceptical if they even really did consider her a friend, or if this was some exceptionally convoluted attempt at bullying, to earn her trust and then finally deliver a killing blow down the line, making her feel stupid and foolish for daring to believe people like Mahiru and Hiyoko might actually like her and enjoy her company. You may laugh at that, but it wouldn’t be the first time. No matter how cruel the torture one could think up is, it would never be the first time for Mikan. Never. 

Some days were harder to get out of bed than others. But when she had Nursing duty (every other day, including weekends) she always found the motivation to do it. Sometimes she wished an excuse came to ruin it all. To make everyone hate her, or at least admit they did, so she stopped living in this convenient lie that everything would be okay, that she mattered. An excuse so they would pay attention to her. Forgive her for being so pathetic. So that her existence had some meaning again like it always had when she was the subject of everyone’s ire. 

It was just one of those days. One where a cloud hung over Mikan’s head and she couldn’t stop feeling sorry for herself since nobody else would. Mikan did her best to distract herself. The days were easier to manage when she could busy herself. An active body made for an idle mind. Paperwork could do that, although it was so hopelessly boring sometimes Mikan couldn’t bring herself to focus solely on that alone. Patients were the best distraction. She had wounds to stitch, plaster and bandage. She could make small talk. She wasn’t the best, she stammered and tripped over every word, always second-guessing herself and worrying if what she said could be misconstrued as boring. Most people were nice enough that they didn’t bring it up though. However, Mikan imagined the number of people who would opt to openly deride and insult the person holding a thread to their bare, bleeding skin was astronomically low. 

One small victory, she supposed.

Another method to prevent herself slipping down the muddy ravine of depression was to read a book. Some days were slow. For an academy containing _Iruma Miu_ of all people and all the regular detonations that followed in her wake as a result of another one of her _“genius inventions”_ there were surprisingly few injuries most days. On a nice day with little work Mikan liked to sit by the window and watch the cherry blossoms wither from their branches and float gently to the ground, held aloft and guided by the breeze. The sun on her skin was relaxing, and more often than once she had slipped into the haze of sleep, only to be woken up by Hiyoko who had compared Mikan to her own retirement home-bound Grandmother.

Mikan chuckled at the memory. For all of her foul language, Hiyoko had soft heart and was fiercely protective of Mikan. She didn’t let others push her around or pressure her into doing anything she was uncomfortable with. Both her and Mahiru always pushed Mikan to be more outgoing. More confident in herself. Their methods consisted of “tough love”, one more than the other, and they liked to try and toss Mikan into the deep end on occasion. “Sink or swim” as they liked to say. If Mikan could have one complaint about her friends- not that she would ever even think of levelling it at either of them- was that they could be pushy. They liked it their way. They always thought they knew best. They were outgoing, fairly popular and self-confident. But they didn’t recognise not everybody marched to the beat of _their drum_. Mikan liked to take things slowly. Especially when she was new to something, or somebody for that matter. They always had the best of intentions though. They were good people, and Mikan loved them. 

Mikan’s phone vibrated. Speak of the devil. Mikan had very little in terms of people who knew her number, fewer still who bothered to save it. She was very selective with that. It could have only been a few people, and there was an easy process of elimination of who it could be. She liked trying to guess before she unlocked it. 

_'Akane? No, morning squats. Ibuki? No, nowhere near midday. She’s still asleep. Chiaki’s the same. Oh! I wonder how her date with Hajime went! I should ask. U-Unless I’m being too much of a bother…umm…Hiyoko’s probably still getting changed. So…no. Guess that leaves Mahiru…'_

**_1 New Message from Mahiru Academia_ **

“Yep, right on the money.” Mikan giggled, sliding open the lock on her phone and inspecting the message she had received from the Red head.

**Mahiru Academia: **Hey Mikan! Made it into school okay?****

********

****

Mikan smiled warmly at that, for as brusque as Mahiru could appear on the outside, she had a maternal instinct that couldn’t be beat. She was very doting with Mikan, more so when Hiyoko was around. Those two could bicker for days and it wouldn’t stress their friendship. Naturally Hiyoko insisted Mahiru gave Mikan more space. Room to grow. Mahiru just wanted to be a good friend. 

**Mikan:** I did! Thank you, Mahiru! You should bring an umbrella!

 **Mahiru Academia:** Was gonna say! Don’t think it’ll rain but can never be too sure!

 **Mahiru Academia:** Did you bring lunch? Want me to pick something out and meet you at the Nurse’s Office with Hiyoko?

 **Mikan:** !!!

 **Mikan:** No! I totally forget! Aggghhhh!!! I’m such a klutz! 

**Mikan:** Plz do, I’ll owe you!

 **Mikan:** I’m srry for being such a problem!

 **Mahiru Academia:** Mikan, sweetie, you’re no problem. And stop apologising so much. 

**Mahiru Academia:** You’re a good person

 **Mahiru Academia:** The world is better for having you in it, and not just cuz you treat its wounds

 **Mikan:** Thank you…QwQ

 **Mahiru Academia:** Don’t have to thank me, you’re a friend *sending hugs*

 **Mikan:** *is receiving hugs*

 **Mikan:** I’d appreciate the food if you could…

 **Mahiru Academia:** np, I’ll grab something quick on my way in. No morning classes. Hell yeah.

 **Mikan:** ^w^

 **Mahiru Academia:** \ ^w^ /

Mikan set her phone down, a grateful smile on her face as she filled out some more injury reports and filed them away, slowly cleaning away the clutter that had accumulated on her desk. It was nice to know there were people who had Mikan’s back like that. She had a forgetful nature, always forgetting something she shouldn’t, like the one time she had left her dormitory keys in her room and waited until midnight before somebody let her back in. In her own words “I didn’t ask for help because I didn’t want to be a burden…I’m sorry…”. 

That particular incident had made Hiyoko especially angry. She ranted at Mikan for what felt like hours. She told Mikan that a friend could be relied on even for the dumbest of mistakes. She said there was no excuse, as a Nurse, for giving yourself a cold from being stood out in freezing temperatures because you were too nervous to speak up, or call somebody. She had insisted on adding Mikan into their class’ group chat so she could ping somebody in case she ever got locked out again. Mikan didn’t like the idea. Her class were her friends. But so many competing voices, personalities and conversations all happening at once felt overstimulating for somebody who hadn’t owned a phone until a few months ago. Hiyoko had let it drop, kindly enough, but that was one of those days where Mikan truly felt like more of an inconvenience than anything worthwhile to her friends. They proclaimed otherwise, as they always would.

It had always been hard to shake that feeling of inferiority when you struggled with the most basic of social queues because your brain screamed at you to freeze, for all joints to lock into place and for your mouth to wire itself shut. 

They bunked together in one room that night, Ibuki came to join and sing karaoke too. They all huddled together under one blanket on Hiyoko’s bed. That was one of the best night’s of Mikan’s life. Dumb movies, 1am pizza, and a lot of laughs. It had started out awful but managed to end with a smile. Hiyoko didn’t stay mad either. Unique to herself, Hiyoko was just as maternal towards Mikan as Mahiru. Actually, _paternal_ was probably the better descriptor. Either way, she only said what she said and did what she did out of kindness. Perhaps misplaced, miscalculated, but it came from the same place. Just a different method. 

Occupied with her thoughts, and the memories that had forged her relationship within Hope’s Peak Academy, Mikan hadn’t noticed the strange shift of weather in the last few minutes. The shadows in the room stretched out longer, filtered into thinner and more prominent shapes, light bouncing and refracting off the glass as the grey clouds began to disperse, and the rising, shining sun took prominence in its place. 

An old joke about the accuracy of a Weatherman would come to mind, had Mikan been paying attention. The added weight of an umbrella in her bag, lying listlessly, would bear no fruit for her over precaution. Perhaps it was just as well. Better be overly concerned as a Medical professional than under prepared, no?

Mikan twirled a pen between her fingers, hopelessly bored with all this paperwork. It was almost finished. Just a few more signatures, add the date where relevant and then it was off for filing. She gathered the stacks up, enough that there was a hefty weight to it all, but not enough that it caused her any real issue. The cabinet was only on the other side of the room anyway, so it wouldn’t give her any problems.

Mikan was just about to pass the door into her office, when suddenly it burst open with an almighty force and an obnoxiously loud voice following it for 8:45 in the morning.

“Da-da-da-dunnnnnn! Junko’s arrived! Make way, plebs!” The force and unexpectedness of the door flying open knocked Mikan off her feet. She cried out in distress, collapsing onto her posterior as dozens of sheets of paper rained down like the Sakura petals she so admired in Fall. “Huh? Oh shit! I’m sorry!”

“Junko…that was pretty careless. Apologise.” A softer voice followed the louder one, more resigned and submissive, but still leagues more confident than anything Mikan could muster.

“Duh! Dude, I just did? Hello? Earth to Mukuro? I wasn’t born without manners y’know?”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Wow. Okay. Firstly: Bitch.”

“Kinda proving my point.”

“What do you want from me, Mukuroooooooo…?” the taller of the two- a blonde- slumped down theatrically with her arms practically drooping to the floor. Mikan could finally see the girl now that the world wasn’t a blur and the sheets of paper had mostly settled. She was…gorgeous. Mikan almost completely forgot about the pain in her rear when she finally got a good, prolonged look at her assailant. And wow. She was something else. Long, blonde twin tails caught at an upward angle. Black shirt, black boots, red skirt, loose white tie, long red acrylic nails and stunning blue eyes that could ensnare even the most pious of men in their bewitchment. Mikan wouldn’t be shocked if this girl had an army of loyal fans. She could swear her face was familiar. That she had seen her before. You don’t forget a face- or features- like that. The girl was even bold enough to leave a generous amount of cleavage for the world to appreciate. Mikan would have died of embarrassment if anybody caught her like _that_ but this girl wore it like second nature.

_'Well, if you’ve got it, flaunt it, I guess…'_

“For one, you could help the poor thing up?”

“Crap! Sorry!” the blonde stepped closer to Mikan, and offered an apologetic smile, pretty teeth and features aimed right at her, and Mikan couldn’t make herself blink. She was caught in the snare that was the blonde’s charming beauty. Her hand moved up to brush at a stray lock of loose blonde hair behind her ear, bouncing free as soon as she does it. It was the most casual, unassuming motion in the world. But Mikan’s heart skipped a beat because for a moment it felt like Mikan was the only girl in the world, and this bombshell had eyes only for her. “Didn’t mean to knock you over. ADHD. I kinda do dumb shit without realising. _Not that it’s an excuse!_ ” She emphasised the end of her sentence, more for the satisfaction of the girl behind her, who had already knelt to pick up the spilt stack of reports Mikan had dropped. 

“U-Umm…” Mikan stammered. She was lost in a desert of words. Every different grain a response that she couldn’t quite settle on. Infinite and boundless, she looked like a dumb puppy back up at Junko, arms splayed behind her to keep her upright.

“Junko. Try asking her name.”

“Her what?” 

“Her _name_. We were all born with one. Again, _manners._ ”

“Again: _Bitch._ ”

“M-Mikan…” the nurse replied, sheepishly.

“Huh?”

“M-My name…i-is…T-Tsu…Tsu…Tsumiki…M-Mikan…” Mikan had to gulp nothing in particular, nothing but her anxiousness, but it was about as easy and challenging as swallowing a whole steak. She generally didn’t struggle with her name. Approaching a person? Talking to them for the first time? Absolutely. But if she could get that out, she would normally be confident to hold a conversation with them. Well, a conversation by her standards, which usually constituted being talked at.

“You stutter?” Junko asked. It seemed a fairly harmless question. But the more Mikan looked at her, the more she became certain this was a goddess made flesh. A socialite. The perfect example of a person who loved to take advantage of others, use them for their games, and laugh as they did everything they asked for without reservation. The type that had bullied Mikan mercilessly in her childhood. She had done well to avoid them, but now this one crouched over her, like a Tiger ready to pounce at a tasty morsel. Mikan froze up. She didn’t have her words anymore. She was stuck. “That’s okay. I was the same too!”

Huh?

“Junko had the worst stutter as a kid. She had to write everything down so I could understand what she needed.” The other girl- Mukuro- smiled beautifully at Mikan. She had already completed her self-imposed task, forming a nice and orderly stack of reports that she carried effortlessly.

_'Need? Need what? Why couldn’t she do it herself?'_

“Oh god!” Junko snorted cheerfully. “If we’re trading embarrassing stories, want to hear about the time _Mukuro_ peed herself in the car on a family trip?” 

“One time, Junko. One time.” Mukuro grumbled as she finally stood up with her stacks of reports. Mikan bit her tongue at the obvious issue that they probably weren’t organised as they should be, but she let it slide. No reason to give them any reason to hate her.

“And I’ll never let you live it down!” Junko winked.

“J-Junko…” The name finally clicked with Mikan. She was never one for fashion magazines. Or fashion in general. Mikan knew better than to show off. Being bland and basic, fading into the background, was less dangerous. Humans were social creatures. But humanity was divided into two different groups. Gazelles and Lions. Mikan was a Gazelle. A fragile creature that was safe in its herd. The more of them there were, the safer they were. They relied on others for strength and security. Lions were entirely different. Lions were ferocious. Brutal. Amoral. They did as they did, and they always targeted the lone Gazelle foolish enough to break from the group. Rarely would they kill. They would isolate and bully that Gazelle. Torture it. Abuse it. To be in the herd was safest for Mikan. So, she vowed to never stand out.

However, Mikan did sometimes catch a brief glimpse of the fashion magazines that Hiyoko owned. They were mainly traditional fashion magazines. Old style kimonos and Yukatas were the products being worn. Always conservative and chastely shot. Nothing promiscuous or sexual, beyond the natural form of a female body. But there was one girl Mikan felt her eyes drawn towards. Someone who looked perfect no matter the colour, design or shape of the outfit. A pretty smile on a marble face. Every small detail without fault. She was bright and stunning. A star that had fallen to Earth and taken the form of man. 

Or woman in this case.

“E-Enoshima…” Mikan all but breathed the name out. 

“That’s the name! And this here is my big sister, Ikusaba Mukuro!” The modest girl waved at her own introduction.

“Where would you like these?” Mukuro asked, hefting the papers into view for Mikan.

“O-O-Oh…u-u-u-umm…j-just the d-desk would be f-fine…” Mikan’s hand hang in the air after having gestured. It was probably weird, the way she stared with such concentration at Junko. But how close did the average person get to being in the presence of a Goddess like her? For that matter, somebody as _lowly_ as Mikan thought herself to be. She was close enough to reach out and _touch_. To her credit, Junko didn’t seem to mind, or care, she was probably used to being stared at. Ensnaring people in her beauty. All she did was turn her hands over, palms face up and held them out to Mikan.

“How about we get you up?” She offered warmly. Mikan’s brain lagged behind her body, which instinctively took those hands up on their offer. They wrapped around her own and when Junko rose, Mikan found her strength pulling her too. “Oopsie Daisy!” Junko said as she begun to pull.

Junko was surprisingly strong given her feminine curves and form. Mikan was on wobbly legs and when she realised she was holding the hands of _Junko Enoshima_ , the internationally famous Ultimate Fashionista, her face donned a crimson mask so warm she was afraid she would become a dance of oranges, reds and searing yellows right then and there, completely ablaze.

Honestly? Not Mikan’s worst death fantasy ever. At least incineration left no evidence of her existence or the mortification that brought it about. Remarkably comedic and light for somebody with as many negative thoughts about herself as Mikan. 

“I-Ikusaba?” Mikan’s eyebrows lifted. “Enoshima? You don’t have the same last name?” Mikan almost immediately regretted asking her question. It was too personal, obviously. They would hate her for just trying to pry into their personal history. They had to, right?

“How do I always forget that when I’m introducing us?” Surprisingly, Junko appeared more frustrated with herself than Mikan. She slapped her forehead with her palm and exaggeratedly rolled her eyes back into her head. 

“It’s a minor detail.” Mukuro placed the stacks down on Mikan’s desk, dusted her hands off and walked over to join the two of them. 

“We’re not adopted, or stepsisters if that’s what you were thinking.” Junko assured. “Same Birth Dad, Same Birth Mum, different marriages. Hence different names.”

“Raised together too. And nobody bothered to sign any proper documentation, so I never became an Enoshima.” Mukuro shrugged her shoulders indifferently. “Means I don’t get lumped in with her in alphabetical seating, so there’s a silver lining.” Mukuro smiled mischievously.

“Oh, fuck you! I am a _delight_. You love me.” Junko boasted.

“No, no. I love Idol Groups, long walks on the beach, and pretending like I don’t have a sister with impulse control issues. It’s fairer to say you’re an _obligation_.” Mukuro teased. 

“One of these days, Mukuro, I’m going to kill you. And it will be the worst day of my life.” Junko crossed her arms in a pout. 

“Pffft. Best of luck. What are you gonna do, stab me?” Mukuro interrogated with a smirk. 

“Yeah. Maybe. With, like, sixteen spears. All at once.” 

“Junko, how could you stab me with sixteen spears at once? You can barely fry an egg without either burning it or flipping it on your own face.”

“Oh! Ohhhh! _Ohhhhhhh_! So, it’s okay for you to bring up something that happened one time but when I do it, suddenly I’m the bad guy?!” Junko protested, stomping her foot.

“…You are the younger sibling,” Mukuro waved her hand dismissively in the space between them. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I’ll pay for dinner tonight. Takeaway sound good? Truce?” Mukuro extended her hand in a peace offering.

“…Make it Korean Barbeque, and you’ve got yourself a deal.” 

“Deal.” 

“A-A-Ah…u-umm…” Mikan stammered, but finally managed to divert the siblings’ attention back to her. If Mikan were being honest, the attention was not sought after. But they had to be here for a reason, and as good natured as their bickering was, Mikan felt like a _very_ awkward third wheel.

“Oh! Right, Mikan, shit! Umm…hi?” Junko waved inelegantly. Mukuro peered over her sister’s shoulder.

“ _Smooth._ ” 

“I thought we had a truce?!” Junko yelled.

“Sorry, can you blame me? Goal was wide open.” The older sibling shrugged; Junko simply sighed frustratedly. She then gestured with both hands, posture slightly bowed, as if to tell Junko to take the stage.

“H-H-Hi…” The Nurse struggled with the word, face now bent down towards the ground, shifting her feet back and forth. “C-C-Can I-I d-do anything f-for you...?” She finally asked. 

“Uh, yeah, actually! I ordered some prescription glasses, and they were delivered here? Front office said the Nurse’s office held any medical deliveries meant for students? I guess Glasses are medical now. Weird we don’t have an…umm…Eye Doctor?”

“O-O-Optometrist…” Mikan supplied, and Junko nodded her head enthusiastically. “F-F-Funny story, w-we do have an Ultimate Optometrist, b-but he…never finds h-his way into the building.”

“Why’s that?” Junko asked, pursing her lips quizzically and planting one hand on her hip.

“Umm…h-he’s…sorta…almost nearly b-blind.”

“Jesus Christ, the irony hurts…” Junko scowled like she had been punched in the gut. Mikan managed a small, fluttering chuckle. It caused Junko to rediscover her smile and joined her in a laugh hidden behind the back of her hand.

“I-I handle a-all the deliveries he signs off on. I-I can find them for you if you’d l-like?” Mikan offered, and Junko smiled her approval. “T-Take a seat by my desk, a-and I’ll see if they’re the right fitting…” Junko did as Mikan instructed, pulling up a spare chair and sat with one leg crossed over another, tapping her foot idly in the air. 

Mukuro stood behind her. Her arms were crossed, a deliberate scan of her eyes passed over the whole room and hallway outside. Her teeth began to chatter, breathing hitting an alarming pitch.

_The whole world was spinning. The room felt smaller. Familiar. The light was absent apart from bright flashes of orange and bright white intermittently, and the dust and asbestos of an old, worn down building cascaded as it shuddered. Huge, loud, long screams arced overhead. Mukuro can see the faint glow of black metal between her hands. It shimmered in the dark. Her hands fiddled with it, flicking different components up and down as the vibrations rolled across the walls, cracking wholesale sections like eggs. Then voices begin to peter in, hushed and terrified whispers. Mukuro is trapped in this fraying confine. The world is shrinking, colour is surging and twisting until it all blends into one unknowable flame and the screams are the worst part and she just wanted it to end-_

Junko’s hand found Mukuro’s own and squeezed.

“Breathe, sis.” Junko ordered, voice soft, and Mukuro squeezed back.

“Okay.” Mukuro’s voice was brittle, faint, barely above a whisper. Her breathing hadn’t escalated too far, but she felt a palpable disconnect with her body. Like soul and form had been inexplicably pulled apart, and now her own sense felt foreign. Distant. 

“Bad?” Junko asked.

“No. Just felt like I was back there again. Expected…I don’t know. Something to happen.” Mukuro said, hanging her head in shame, spare hand fiddling with the hem of her skirt. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Don’t ever be, okay?” Junko insisted and with one final intake of breath, Mukuro seemed under control of her own faculties again. 

“I’m gonna stick my head out the window for some fresh air, okay?” 

“Okay. Don’t fall.” Mukuro’s faded and worn face seemed to recover some of its colour at that. She rolled the hand that Junko tightened her grip over. Her anchor. She was worried Junko might cut off the oxygen flow, but realistically it’s the acrylic nails that would do the worst damage. She offers a tight smile, only somewhat forced, and brushed the accumulated sweat from her brow. Funny. She could jog 10 miles in under an hour with eighty pounds of equipment on her back and _still_ not break a sweat. This was different though. An altogether completely different _exercise_ if it could be called one.

“Damn, my plans have been foiled again.” Mukuro replied sardonically and proceeded over to the nearest window, pushing it open and her head out, warmth and sunlight licking her skin pleasantly.

Mikan returned with a colourful oval case, bright pink with glittering false gemstones, which Junko thought was the _third_ prettiest thing in the room. First was herself, of course. 

“U-Umm…i-is your sister okay…?” Mikan whispered conspiratorially with Junko, who tapped her chin pensively.

“Yeah.” She answered curtly. Mikan wasn’t sure she bought that, but she also wasn’t the type of person who would ever intrude on somebody’s privacy _twice_ in the same morning. The first time had been a slip up. If Junko didn’t want to say anything, Mikan would respect that.

Mikan opened the case with a pop, air smelling faintly of strawberries flowing from the confines of the case. Mikan carefully picked the pair of Glasses up by the intersection between the two lenses and folded both arms open. She swivelled it in her hands and pointed it towards Junko.

“H-Head forwards, please. S-S-Stay still…” She instructed and Junko did as was asked, bracing herself on the chair’s seat with her hands as she leaned in towards Mikan. A light pink dusted the Ultimate Nurse’s face. It nearly drove Junko mad. If Mukuro hadn’t been there- who was the _worst_ wingman in history, by the way- Junko might have thought about doing something drastic. For the time being she just shut her eyes and allowed Mikan to slide the arms of her glasses past her hair and over her ears. “I-I-I didn’t know you n-needed glasses…”

“Oh yeah, I think I did an interview once where I was asked about the contact lenses I wear for shoots. I’m a little short-sighted. Not, like, bad or anything. But sometimes I have to focus really hard if I’m at the back of a class. I never wear them around though or during my shoots, so I guess it’s one of those little known _super rare_ Junko facts that only my most dedicated fans know! So! Congrats! You’re super S+ Class special!” Junko cheered. 

Mikan felt like a dormant volcano that had just gone active for the first time in over a thousand years. Her blush spread all the way to the tips of her ears, and she has to fight the insidious split within herself to not purposefully screw up to distract Junko from the sight. For some reason Junko seemed happy talking to Mikan. She was considerate, funny, a little haughty and sure of herself but who wouldn’t be if you were Junko? The whole world was influenced on the daily by her choice of fashion. That had to go to your head in some way. But even then, Junko was so down to Earth. At least to Mikan. She joked. She laughed. She teased. She pouted. She got upset. She got irritated. She was human. Mikan only ever had images to play with, but not even in her wildest dreams did she expect the Diva of Hope’s Peak Academy to be nice to her. Maybe tolerate her out of pragmatism. Mikan wasn’t worth getting into trouble over. But if somebody could get away with that, it would have been Junko.

“I-I-I’m…special?” Mikan asked, head tilted quizzically.

“Huh? Oh, totes girl. Why wouldn’t you be? You seem nice and easy to talk to.” Mikan allowed the question to hang in the air, choosing not to address it at all. Instead she took more primary control of Junko’s face, directing her chin and head with both hands, pushing the glasses back and pulling the limbs away from her head to see how much give they had. Comfort was paramount.

“H-How do they fit?” Mikan asked. Junko wobbled her chin back and forth, brows knitting together.

“…Little tight.” Junko said after hesitating. 

“O-Oh no!” Mikan exclaimed. “I-I-I-I’m s-s-so s-sorry!” 

“Hey, hey,” Junko held out her hands. “Not your fault, they must have measured my head wrong or something.”

Mikan’s features eased, but she still seemed upset over it. Like it was her failure somehow. That unsettled Junko. Not because it was unhealthy per se, but because she didn’t like the idea of Mikan struggling with a sensation like that. 

“I-I-I’ll have them sent back a-a-and refitted. Let me j-just t-take a measurement…” Mikan removed the glasses and brought over a device in which Junko’s chin rested. She moved several scales back and forth, the various cross sections pressing against Junko’s head, but thankfully not to an intensity where it caused any discomfort. When Mikan had the recordings and measurements she needed, she released Junko from the device and scribbled some hasty notes down.

“Wow. Thought you would have been a medical nurse. How come you know about optician procedures and optometry?” Junko inquired.

“O-Oh, i-it’s j-just my t-talent is the Ultimate Nurse, t-that relates t-t-to all N-Nursing, not just in Hospitals. M-Most people assume t-that’s all I-I can do, but I’m also q-qualified in Dentistry, Dermatology, all kinds of t-things!” If Junko didn’t know better, she could swear Mikan was boasting a little. Honestly, she was fairly impressed by it. Mikan had practical skills that helped people. Junko just trotted around, acting beautiful and important. Trends and fashions always expired. But Nurses? Medical professionals would always be needed. Saying she envied Mikan would be inaccurate, because she imagined there were a great number of difficult things that came attached to being a nurse. However, she certainly admired the practicality of Mikan’s skills. That much could not be denied. 

“Holy cow. Okay. You’re impressive, Mikan.” Junko meant ever word of it; a talent always proved to be a malleable thing. Akamatsu Kaede and Mioda Ibuki were primary examples of that. Especially Kaede. Whilst her talent was, superficially, simple in appearance and immobile in nature because of the sheer weight a piano brought with it, she had shown in her short time a remarkable aptitude of secondary and tertiary skills related to it. Such as her improved penchant for hearing. She could pick up on the finest details, and no whisper ever went unheard (side note from Junko: _Do not whisper insulting things about her behind her back. Girl might be uptight and a total prude, but she has some serious backbone and won’t let that slide._ ). By this example alone, one may conclude that just because Kaede’s talent was rather stationary by definition, a truly capable Ultimate Student could affirm and reaffirm new contexts and standards under which their talents could be used. The ability to hear and judge and predict notes before they even arrived was another example of the pianist’s extraordinary ability. She could play songs before even hearing them, her ears so sensitive to the depressions and indentations on keys she could almost be thought of as an auditory detective, picking out the smallest minutia. An ability to organize and prioritise music also appeared to translate well into leadership, believe it or not. In her own words, _‘You only need to think of people like a note, or a chord, and find who they work best with next to them, and in what order they should go in.’_

However, Mikan’s talent rested solely in her ability care for people. It was uniquely specialised and purpose fit. Keep people healthy, make sure if they need you to, listen to their concerns and provide the requisite treatment if possible. But it extended to so many different roles, even if they were stitched together with the same term as _‘Nurse’_ , that required an unholy knowledge of every aspect of the human condition that it was hard not to stare at her. She wasn’t just some particularly pigeonholed student, good at one thing and one thing only. Yes, it was and only would ever be identified as a Nurse, but those skills individually should be marvelled at. 

“Do you like being a Nurse, Mikan?” Junko asked, a faux idleness overtaking her as she tapped her fingers away at the base of the chair, trying to keep her hands busy and mind focused. She already made the mistake of letting her impulses get the better of her, flooring poor Mikan in the process. Not the best introduction, she admitted, but hey, everybody made mistakes, and it wasn’t done malevolently! The least she could do was engage in some conversation with the nervous Nurse. She probably didn’t get a lot of people in a conversational mood. People who were hurting, or sick, or just looking for a quick write-up to get out of gym.

 _‘Side note: If possible, get Mikan to write me sick notes. Don’t worry, conscience, I’m not about to abandon her. What do you take me for? I’ll stick with her in the Office! I bet she’d love the company of_ Moi.’

Mikan seemed to perk up at that, posture rigid and straight as if somebody had slipped in a metal rod in place of her spine. Her eyes bloomed wide, almost as if she hadn’t expected Junko to pose the question at all. 

_‘Score one for Junko when it comes to lack of small talk, I guess.’_

“O-Of course I-I love being a N-Nurse! It’s…” Mikan paused. Junko had no idea what had brought upon her sudden stop, after such a sprightly answer. For Mikan though, the difficulty came in the phrasing her response. Nobody wanted to hear her problems. They were too personal, too sordid even if they were the primary subject. People had better things to do than listen to her wax lyrical about an abusive childhood. Beatings. Burns. Being handcuffed to radiators. Touched in _strange_ places creating _strange_ bodily reactions. Places she intrinsically knew not to touch. But Junko deserved an answer, for whatever reason. It was nice to be asked, and Mikan didn’t detect any ulterior motive or malicious core. “…I like b-being useful to people. My patients always s-seem so thankful for my hard work. I can make things b-better. Fix things.” Mikan turned back to Junko’s prescription order, finishing her signature with a small flourish of her pen, and set it down. She turned to Junko with a wistful smile. “If I can leave the world a little better than the way I found it, t-then I’m happy. Being a Nurse does that for me.” Junko could tell Mikan was holding some of the truth back. Her explanation a convenient truth, a low-resolution image of her soul. There was something else beneath it. There always was. Unless you were Akamatsu Kaede or Naegi Makoto you typically had some selfish or personal reason why you used your talent. Wealth. Fame. They more or less fell into a number of small clusters like that. It may have been only half the truth, but it was still approaching reality. Mikan truly did look like the kind of person who wanted to help. 

Junko made the decision there not to press the girl further. She didn’t know her. She’d caught glimpses before, seen the girl trip in the hall or take a tumble down some _conveniently_ placed stairs and land in a compromising position, but to say she knew anything beyond her looks or her class details would be a lie. She didn’t have a right to know if Mikan didn’t want to share. Except, part of her wanted to know. Not because it mattered, because frankly it didn’t. If Junko went the rest of her life without knowing Mikan’s reason for being a Nurse and enjoying it, she wouldn’t lose sleep over it. But she did want to know all the same. 

“You’re full of surprises.” Junko remarked, distantly.

“I-I-I am…?” 

“Yeah. I’m not too sure what it is. But you’re not like a lot of the people here. A lot of them are either kinda timid and humble about their abilities, or brag about how they’re the second coming. Not too many people who say they think of others first.” Junko said with a shrug. 

“T-T-There a-are so many t-talented people h-here, t-they deserve to speak h-highly of themselves…”

“Oh yeah, I’m not saying it’s _bad_ or nothing, but you’re, like, special. You hear and see the same thing over and over, and eventually when you get to meet somebody who thinks or says something different to that, it just carries a different weight.”

“I-I think I understand…” Mikan said. “B-But I also feel that what matters most is what we do with our Talents. Not just how we t-think about ourselves or the Talents themselves. I-If you wind up doing nothing, not really contributing, there’s no real point to it in the first place.” 

“You mean like, it’s sorta pointless to buy a sequin gown if you’re never gonna wear it? And doing a charity drive instead of a regular meet and greet so that you can get more eyes on stuff and junk that actually needs attention.” Junko asked.

“I g-guess that’s one way of looking at it. I-I’m not saying the ends j-justify the means, b-but say y-you have an Ultimate Doctor and an Ultimate Soldier,” Junko could feel herself bristle at the mention of the latter, and she imagined Mukuro would be no different. Fortunately, Mikan was quite soft spoken, so there was a chance it went unheard. “Most people w-would t-think the Doctor w-would be automatically better s-simply because you associate compassion with that position, right?”

“Right.”

“B-But even if the Doctor thinks m-more about helping people as their motivation, w-what if they’re a very lazy person? I-If you’re a l-layabout what good can you do? N-Now say the Soldier i-is very cynical and d-doesn’t care about people. B-But they s-save a lot of lives e-either by a-accident or design because of their Talent, w-who’s better? T-The person with good morals, who ignores t-their duty just b-because it’s easier, o-or the sketchy person w-who saves lives? I-I think Talents are m-more than what we make of them. A-And a little b-bit less, too. T-The person and their circumstances m-matter. Y-You can sit around and waste away and n-nothing good will ever come of it. I-I was like t-that. I-I was so nervous of talking t-to people I never thought I’d make a good Nurse. S-So many people could be hurt s-still if I didn’t try. E-Even if I’m not good, I-I owe it to people to try, r-right?” 

Junko ruminated on that thought. She hadn’t really thought about a question like that in the abstract, or even with concrete examples before. She didn’t know if she had an answer worth giving. Mikan had obviously taken the time to find one. Probably not quickly, and certainly not without wrestling with the answer motivated behind her own circumstances. It was true that beyond sharing the designation of “Talented” you could struggle to find similarities between two people in similar fields. By contrast, people with vastly different fields may well find they’re similar on outlook and philosophy. Junko had really only ever been focused on herself and Mukuro. Big questions tended to be distractions from that. When you had to scrap for every meal, you tended to give philosophy a hard pass. But still, the question lingered a little. 

“I’ll have to get back to you on that one. Don’t think my pea-brain could handle it in one go.” Junko’s attempt at self-depreciation seemed to have gone down well, drawing a reserved giggle from Mikan.

“I-I’m sure y-you’re v-very smart, J-Junko.” Despite her unique cadence, Mikan appeared to be quite confident about her assertion. “A-And I don’t m-mean about grades. T-There are lots of w-ways to be smart. I-It’s all about what you can do, that w-was the point of my question.”

“What I can do, huh?” Junko tapped her chin for a few moments, considering the finer implications of what girl who posed for magazines could really do for the world. She let it go not too long later. Still though, Mikan was interesting. Few other people could make her even conduct introspection in that way. She had not expected it from a routine visit to the Nurse’s office, but it wasn’t an unpleasant experience. 

“O-Okay, that’s all s-sorted…” Mikan said, filing away the requisition order into a clear plastic pocket, and slid it to the back of the desk for later. “I-I’ll run t-that down later for you, s-shouldn’t b-be more t-than a d-day or two. Y-You can c-collect them then.” Mikan explained.

“Great! Thanks, Mikan. It’s a date!” Junko teased, and by time the blush had coated all of Mikan’s face the Fashionista was already on her feet and getting her sister’s attention. Mikan was thankful for that, hiding behind her palms, opening the slits in her fingers to see the way Junko walk. A confident sway, hands on her hips, world like a walkway where the dazzling light of the sun was her spotlight and everyone around was just accompanying models meant to frame and centre her and make her stand out even more. Before she knew it, Junko had waved her goodbye with a wide grin while Mukuro offered a more reserved gesture of departure. The Nurse was by herself again and for some reason she was already exhausted. The bell hadn’t even gone for her First Period at the time, and she could already sense the encroaching desire to crawl into one of the beds earmarked for sick students who couldn’t make it home to rest and sleep the day away. 

Mikan reached up to her cheeks, still burning crimson. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought she was coming down with a fever. But this was an unmistakable feeling. The same she got in embarrassment. But this was a little more pleasant to cope with. It was more confusing too. It brought with it some strange implications and a tendency to obsess over a singular thought: Junko.

She had been nice to Mikan. She had been cordial with Mikan. She had joked and tried to relate to Mikan. Junko was different to any other person Mikan had met. Beautiful. Pretty. Drop-dead gorgeous. Kind. Boisterous and energetic, but not whole-sale destructive like Iruma Miu. She wasn’t as superficial as her appearance might suggest. There was a head on those shoulders that did more than smile. It thought. It considered. And Mikan wanted to know what it wondered. Of course, she doubted she would ever have the courage to ask Junko any pertinent questions again. But…

Mikan remembered the form she had just filled out. Junko would be back to collect the glasses again. Mikan was no false optimist, the coming interaction would last minutes at best. Junko would show up, flash a smile and then disappear from Mikan’s life without a care in the world. But it was nice to dream. Mikan brought her hands back up to her face, cracks of light shining through the gaps in her fingers.

“I’m special…?”

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” 

Mukuro remained a few steps away from her younger sister, watching her with idle curiosity as the blonde bounced her head off her locker in the midst of a deserted hallway. She allowed the novelty of her own sister weakly tapping the metal with her skull until it became more pathetic than amusing. She rolled her eyes and spoke.

“Okay. A question.”

“Go for it…” Junko’s voice came out worn. 

“You already had the fitting done for your glasses, correct?”

“Correct…” 

“And they fit fine, then.”

“They did…”

“So, you lied about them being too tight.” Mukuro arched an eyebrow, grinning. 

“Correct…”

“I think you know the next question.”

“This is the stupidest game of twenty questions ever.” Junko complained, now swapping her head with her fist, banging it against the cheap and hollow metal.

“ _Why?_ ” Mukuro asked. 

“Because…she’s pretty.” Junko admitted with a sigh.

“I…beg your pardon?” Despite the incredulity one may have expected; the Cheshire-like grin on Mukuro’s face bled into her words.

“I wanted a chance to see her again and my brain literally froze and then went _“Hey, why not lie about the fitting? Come back again! No, no, don’t tell her you want to hang out, that would make too much sense! She’d be expecting that!”_ ” 

“…Oh, my dear sister, you poor gay panic.” 

“This coming from the girl who had a crush on Naegi Makoto.” 

“ _This_ coming from the girl who had a crush on Kamakura Izuru.” 

“ _Please_ can we not discuss Middle School? Hajime will never let that one go.” Junko begged, finally turning around to face Mukuro, now with the added feature of a distinct red mark against her forehead.

“Okay. Then let’s discuss _this_ crush in more detail.” Mukuro suggested.

“Okay, first off: Not a crush. She’s just cute.” 

“Definition of a crush but go ahead.”

“Second off, there’s nothing to discuss. I’m going to go down there when my glasses are ready, have a nice chit-chat with her, and then _maybe_ trade contact info if she wants to stay in contact. That’s it. Nothing more.” Junko said, waving her hands over one-another to emphasise her point.

“Nothing more?” Mukuro repeated.

“…Maybe ask her to marry me.” Junko squeaked like a mouse, fiddling her two index fingers together.

“Forget it. You’re not a gay panic. You’re a Gay Disaster, sis.” Mukuro shook her head. “Well, she seemed nice. Maybe you could take her out as a _friend_ for knocking her over? Good excuse if nothing else to spend time together.” Mukuro shrugged.

Junko beamed at that, clasping her hands together. “Yes! Brilliant idea, Muku! Okay, great! I’ll collect my glasses, ask for her contact info and then maybe ask her out for dinner!” Junko couldn’t help the excitement at the idea. She didn’t even consider the possibility that maybe Mikan didn’t like her at all, and was just being polite the entire time, or that she was too busy or that their interest might not align in anyway, but the possibility alone that Mukuro’s idea could work was enough to ignite a fire in her belly. 

“Okay, okay; before you get too excited there, you do realize that means you have no glasses for the whole day, right?” 

“…Shit.”

No plan was flawless, as they say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, everyone! I hope you enjoyed.
> 
> I have been in the Dangan Ronpa fandom for a long time but never thought of writing anything for it. Then I played v3. And for better or worse, I loved the characters and it inspired me to go back, play the games, and write something. So...here it is.
> 
> Somehow I made Mukuro more sassy than Junko. Not even sure how I came to that decision. But it is staying.
> 
> Next up: Miu has lost her Kaede, if seen, please return to Kirumi Toujo because she is far more responsible.


	3. "I'm Miu God-Damn Fuckin' Iruma: Pussy slayer, invention maker, Piano Bimbo finder"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaede's missing, and Miu knows exactly where to find her.

_**Calendar 1, September 26th…** _

Iruma Miu only ever thought of the world in terms of components. In terms of form. In terms of structure. To her, everything was a mathematical equation. Everything had a pre-set answer, a binary of sorts: the wrong or the right. Now, how you chose or by what method to reach that answer was up to you. You may even make mistakes and _still_ arrive at the correct answer even if your working out was wrong _because_ you subconsciously knew the answer to begin with and the strategy you implemented just so happened to be too complex, but that doesn’t stop you being correct. 

That was life to Miu. 

Things always fit to form, even if you must force them in there (she would laugh at that, no doubt) and break a piece or two off in the process. But the world worked that way and Miu could make sense of it. Miu could piece everything together and find new ways of solving old problems or create new problems to solve with old ways. But either way, the world operated in a linear format with linear solutions with some wiggle room for ingenuity and creativity. That was Iruma Miu’s reality. Her perspective on the world. 

That’s why Akamatsu Kaede didn’t make sense to her. Why they always clashed. Why they would butt heads over trivial issues. Because Kaede saw the world and understood it in the abstract. Things were “good” and “bad” and could be sorted out and compartmentalised into the righteous and the immoral, even if some of those immoral subjects could be the path towards a brighter future. Life wasn’t so uniform with her, but it was also conservatively organised. You had to be polite. You had to be nice. Swearing was a no-go. Always look both ways when crossing the street and _always_ pick up litter when you come across it. She was the good girl. The perfect princess who grew up in the big house with a happy family and shouted her platitudes from the rooftop like people _actually gave a shit_. She cared about people being happy, she cared about taking a stand and not backing down. She cared less about the solution and more about the position. Where Miu saw a problem that needed tackling, Kaede saw an attitude that needed fixing. 

They were each-other’s pet project like that. But contrary to her thoughts on Kaede’s upbringing and how _fortunate_ and how much of a _spoiled brat_ she thought Kaede was, she liked the backbone. She liked the girl’s stubbornness. Always the first to volunteer for a leadership role, always the first to throw herself in the fire, no sense of self-preservation and a cheery disposition that _almost_ made Miu want to hit her face in with a shovel until it stopped as much as she wanted to wipe that arrogant happiness away with a kiss. Miu liked Kaede and she knew she probably shouldn’t. Kaede was pushy, a little self-involved and always had to act like a Hero. She acted like her comfy background of _Business Class_ plane trips just to play some crummy old piano for some stuck-up rich snobs with more money and time than sense bore no impact on who she was and how she perceived. But she never gave up. She fought as hard for what she had as anybody who was deprived growing up. Miu didn’t know where that strength came from, but it was an aggravating turn on, to put it bluntly. It should have been oh-so-easy for Kaede to come across the first hurdle in her life, turn her head at it and laugh before saying _“Ha! Why should I care? I don’t have to try hard. I have my life made anyway. I’ve already played for diplomats.”_ But never once was there that form of superiority. Kaede was pretty humble, even if _that_ could be annoying by itself. She took her studies diligently. She smiled and held her head high when she performed, when she knew she had pulled every single audience member into the rapture that was her performance, and she knew how capable she was, but never would she brag about it. She had a quiet confidence. Different from Miu. But not so different. 

Miu and Kaede worked together somehow. Somehow it worked. Somehow the pieces had fallen together neatly. Somehow the prudish blonde put up with the vulgar inventor and vice versa. It was an odd pair. Personalities in constant discord but never in such a way either party ended up in tears. Miu wouldn’t have been able to live with herself if _she_ was ever the source of Kaede crying. She’d have to kill herself in the most ironic fashion, hoping the burgeoning hatred in the Pianist’s heart would find some humour in the knowledge that an invention the Strawberry Blonde put together happened to be her demise. But no. That idea would perpetually be tossed out the window because Kaede wouldn’t wish harm upon anybody.

 _Even the fucking Imp._

Speaking of, Kokichi was busy picking the lock to a side-entrance of Hope’s Peak Academy, running along parallel to a small side-street district of family owned shops and convenience stores aimed right at the peripheral of the school where bored students could turn their heads _ever-so-slightly_ and find something they wanted to quench their first or satiate their hunger between classes. If the cafeteria didn’t provide anything worthy of that, of course. 

The street was fairly narrow, most cars would struggle to get through. That was by design, of course. It was a pedestrian street intended to act as a sort of student-based commercial district. Plenty of cheap stock so no school stipend disappeared over night. Nothing of any particular quality, but what would Highschool students need with quality? Even Ultimate students typically got by with the bare necessities. In fact, that’s usually what set them apart from their peers. Their ability to excel with cheaper, less impressive equipment or conditions was generally the story of the majority of students. To some it might make the school look like a bit of a charity case. But for every Iruma Miu, building word-changing inventions from next-to-nothing, there was a Togami Byakuya. So, the world had its own way of working itself out, its own egalitarian sense of _fucked up_ humour. Didn’t mean it was fair, but Miu was just about done with thinking the world was fair. If it were, it wouldn’t have made her such a Gorgeous Girl Genius with a Golden Brain to boot.

Seriously, who could contend with _that_ competition?

Truly, everybody else had a cross to bear. 

It was the dead of night now, coming close to midnight and well passed the curfew Hope’s Peak Academy applied to the students who resided within their dorms. Not only making this technically illegal to perform, but also a blatant violation of school rules.

That was all the incentive Kokichi needed to join Miu on this escapade.

Miu leaned back against the side of the building. Ahead of her was the enigma himself, Amami Rantaro fiddling with a stray lock of pastel green hair that hung past his brow. Beside her was the ever impetuous Supreme Leader Ouma Kokichi, hands locked in a dance to find that _sweet_ spot he talked about that undid a lock without permanently breaking it. Left less evidence that way and made breaking and entering a lot easier. Although he did complain about it being more boring that way. He mentioned once or twice about how he had purposefully broken a lock just to make the experience more exciting. 

Then he made a comment about the similarities between himself and Miu, choosing her _exhibitionist_ tendencies to do that.

Miu didn’t appreciate the comment, for as true as it was.

Miu had been sure to drill it into his head that she didn’t want evidence implicating them this time, to which he begrudgingly agreed. But only after they had traded jabs and barbs, as was tradition at this point. 

Miu anxiously tapped her foot, patience already frayed past breaking point. “Can you hurry the fuck up at all?” 

“I don’t provide colour commentary and criticism of you when you have your legs splayed, you trashy whore, lemme handle this.” Kokichi replied, tongue poking out between his lips as the metal of his lockpick and the lock of the door rattled together like two swords in the middle of a duel. Miu grumbled past her blush, scuffing her foot against the ground. “I don’t get why you’re in such a rush either. This _has_ to be the bajillionth time Kaede’s pulled an all-nighter. Why get so worked up over the Piano Freak?”

“I’m not. And don’t call her that.” 

“You really need to get better at lying.” Kokichi said. “Hmm…I think I will.”

“Won’t.”

“Will!” 

“Won’t!” 

“Will!”

“Stop…” Rantaro begged, hiding his eyes behind his palm. 

Miu was already regretting bringing Kokichi along for this little trip of theirs. She made a mental note to invent some automatic lockpicking machine to cut out the _very_ annoying middleman and do it herself next time. Ah yes, a woman inventing a device to give herself a more pleasant time than what a man could provide. Tale as old as time itself, Miu thought. 

“Soooooooo…” Kokichi waited for the reply to his question, humming indifferently as he continued to work on the lock. 

“I’m not worried she’s gone and killed herself; bitch is too sensitive for that shit. Girl probably feels bad for Daisies when she picks them for a flower crown.” Miu began. “I just…I kinda fuckin’ get mad at her when she does this crap without telling me. If I’m not being selfish and making this about me for a moment,”

“Would be a refreshing change of pace.” Kokichi quipped and Miu wanted for all the world to kick him right then. But she relented, still glaring daggers at the small boy, sighing.

“Anyway, I’d be fine if she literally told anybody else what she was doing. But that’s not the case. I mean, she gets on my ass enough for forgetting to brush my teeth in the morning, but how the fuck is that girl meant to shower and brush her hair when she’s been up all night fingerbanging her Piano? Assuming she stops schlicking it to Bach or Beethoven or whatever the fuck to get to sleep. Who knows if she’s eaten at all? Although the bitch is on the rag half the time.”

“Awww, you’re worried about her! In your own gross way.” Kokichi sang.

“She needs somebody to kick her ass and that’s what Miu fucking Iruma does: Takes names, kicks ass, looks sexy while doing it.” Miu proudly proclaimed, crossing her arms over her chest. “I wouldn’t go to these lengths unless it was important.” Miu looked over to Rantaro, who seemed content enough to play Guard Dog and nonchalantly stroll about the same four or five metres. Rantaro was quite easy-going like that. Little phased him. He took a lot in stride, but Miu supposed he had seen so much of the world that even events like this had become commonplace enough that they only dictated an indifferent- albeit amused- shrug and grin. “By the way, why did you tag along? You didn’t say.”

“Oh, me?” Rantaro asked, placing a hand on his hip. “Had to get out of the Dorm. Mugi was saying if I took another volume from her _“Manga Library”_ ,” He air quoted, sardonically. “She’d shotput me to death.”

“How the fuck does the Otaku Bint _“shotput”_ somebody to death? That sound’s nearly as fucking crazy as that seesaw Homicide that Kiyo was babbling on about.” Miu asked. 

“No idea, but I wasn’t taking the chance. Mugi is crazy terrifying when you get on her bad side.” Rantaro played if off with a sincere chuckle. “Although, a question does come to mind.” Rantaro said, looking to the night sky as he rubbed his chin with his palm, hoping the numerous patterns and constellations might provide him with some modicum of wisdom to his own question. As the Ultimate Explorer, he was well equipped to identify the most notable stars immediately. Using star-mapping as means of figuring out direction was important when there was no internet or paper map to use on more arduous treks. “I’m kind of surprised you didn’t bring Shuichi along. They’ve been best friends for years now.” Rantaro caught himself and rubbed at the back of his neck, nervously smiling. “A-Apart from yourself, Miu…”

“Don’t patronise me, Cabbage-patch.” Miu snapped. “I wanted to talk to her by myself. Shyhara is too much of a pussy to give her the spanking she needs! Seriously, the dude is like her fluffer.” Rantaro practically cringed at that, but Miu didn’t really care. She was right enough. Shuichi was soft with Kaede and tended to get pulled along by her into whatever shenanigans she had waiting. He had grown a little more outspoken since Hope’s Peak, but most of the time their partnership defaulted into him making suggestions and Kaede bolting off and taking them to the logical extreme without thinking them through too much. 

“I think we all know the real reason is because Miu’s a horny bitchlet and wants to get in Kaede’s pants! I bet she’s never done it on a piano before!” Kokichi cackled quietly to himself. 

“Fuck off you lil’ abortion!” Miu growled but Kokichi wasn’t affected, just wiggling his eyebrows suggestively as her face descended into scarlet embarrassment. 

“So, anyway,” Rantaro interrupted before the two of them could really get going, playing the diplomatic peacemaker. “What are you planning on saying? I feel like trying to stop Kaede doing anything is like swimming against the tide.” 

“Oh god, this conversation is soooooooo borrrrrrrrrrrring, we’ve had it so many timesssssss…” Kokichi complained.

“Save it, Gremlin!” Miu bit. She cast her eyes down to the ground, pensive, and thought for a moment. “I dunno. She…she worries me, alright? She’s pretty resilient to a lot of stuff, but not her own criticism. So, if something isn’t going right, and she knows it, she kinda gets stuck in this bullshit loop and trust me, I know _exactly_ what a bitch that can be. And somebody has to take on the responsibility of breaking her from it.” Miu shrugged. “Maybe I’ll go easy on her. Maybe I’ll just tell her to give herself a break now and again. Maybe I’ll pull her around by the tits all day, so she knows half the fuckin’ agony I go through worrying about her when she’s missed _eight of my fucking calls in an hour._ ” Miu stressed, huffing as she combed her Strawberry-blonde hair with a hand and fixed her goggles when they threatened to topple.

“I can begin to form a picture of how _that_ conversation is going to go.” Rantaro said. “Got any idea what brought this on, then? Me and Kaede talk pretty often, but really, it’s just us trading travel stories and sibling stuff. Oh, and nail painting. Kirumi told me something had happened, but we were all out and apparently it has “nothing to do with us.” So that got dropped pretty quick.”

“Who fuckin’ knows with that chick?” Miu exclaimed. But it’s a blatant lie and she could feel Kokichi’s gaze linger on her, smirking, but staying relatively quiet for once. Miu appreciated that. “Probably her time of the fuckin’ month or something.”

“And about a century and a half of feminism goes right down the drain.” Rantaro quipped harmlessly. “Remind me to never ask you for a character evaluation on a girl, Miu.”

“Please! Who knows bitches better than _the_ bitch herself?!” She laughed. “You dudes are amateurs when it comes to chicks, leave it to the Master!” 

“Says the girl who had never kissed anyone prior to Kaede.” Kokichi retorted and Miu flustered.

“A-A-AAAHHHHH! D-Don’t s-say shit like that!” 

“Wait, it’s true?” Rantaro had a sly smile creep up on his face that was better suited to Kokichi than himself. “Miu that’s…holy crap that’s precious.”

“K-Kaediot hadn’t either!” Miu responded defensively, twirling her hair. 

“Not true! She told me herself. Nishishishi!” Kokichi taunted, Rantaro tilted his head quizzically. 

“Wait, why would she tell you?” He asked, crossing his arms. “I mean, the pair of you are closer than I would have expected, but that’s because she’s the class rep. And she also worries you don’t have enough friends.”

“I have plenty of friends!” Kokichi said, but without any real form of resistance or care, breezily making his defence as he smiled. “That was a lie. I only have Minions! But what I said about Kaede is true! She kissed a boy before! But Miu was her first girl.”

“How exactly did you get this information?” Rantaro’s tone dipped somewhat, still good-natured and without malice, but it had gained an edge. He knew Kaede was pretty tight-lipped and chaste about her and Miu’s personal status. And he knew Kokichi could be quite the underhanded character when it came to procuring information. He just wanted to make sure he hadn’t guilted or coerced the Pianist in sharing something she didn’t want to.

“I just wanted to know if she liked Miu! She told me not to tell anyone that she was nervous about kissing a girl! Not the sexuality part, the person she was into part. I asked if it was Miu and she said yes! Well, actually, she said she wasn’t, but I know a lie when I see one, so she caved.” Rantaro sighed at that. “ _Girlfriend_ seriously needs a better poker face! Anyway, she told me in the strictest of confidence that she had only kissed one boy before, and it was on Valentine’s day a couple years ago! Oh well, cat’s out of the bag now!” 

“Don’t fucking snoop into my girlfriend’s shit, Kokichi!” Miu growled. 

“I make no promises. I actually like Kaede, she’s definitely not boring! It’s hard to not wanna dig into the Piano Freak’s brain!” 

“Why were you interested to begin with?” Rantaro eased up, looking pensive but without any edge to his tone.

“I just wanted to see what kinda idiot someone would have to be to find Miu attractive.” Kokichi declared.

“Hey!” The inventor protested. 

“That was a lie.” Rantaro smirked. 

“Okayyyyyyyy…” Kokichi deflated. “She was all worked up at the time. For about, I don’t know, four hours I saw her pacing next to the window in her lab. I like to sometimes sit by it and listen to what Keys-for-brains plays. Free entertainment!” Kokichi admitted with a shocking amount of selfish sincerity. Or perhaps not, it was Kokichi after all. “Eventually it just became _boring_ to watch her do the same thing over and over. So, being the wonderful human being I am, I decided to intervene and ask what’s up!”

“And she just told you?” Rantaro cocked an eyebrow sceptically. 

“She trusted me to keep it on the down low!” Rantaro narrowed his eyes further, scepticism deepening into incredulity. “I mean it this time! Honest! Geez, I can be helpful, you know? Like with this door.” Rantaro seemed to accept the answer. You never could tell with Kokichi what was genuine truth and what was one of his games. He did have a kind streak in him, one that was smothered amidst a layer of deceit, but he could be a good friend. Kaede was one of the few that seemed to uniquely benefit from that disproportionately more than the rest of them. “And I would like the record to show up until you asked, I had kept that secret!” Kokichi paused as he continued to work on part of the lock. “She needed an ear, and I was curious what could cause Kaede that kind of stress. Win-win!”

“Didn’t know Kaede could get worked up like that. Does it happen a lot?” Rantaro directed his question at Miu, who had just about come down from her earlier flush.

“It’s…sorta hard to explain. Shit, I hate doing this.” Miu groaned, rubbing at her temples. “Thing is, the bitch works hard. Really hard. Some weeks we don’t even see her because she’s globe-trotting for tours or whatever. She loves it, seriously, all she does is babble on about E minor this, B major that, Wolfgang bang this, blah-blah-blah…but it takes its toll doing all that work, y’know?” Rantaro nodded at that, Kaede always had a lot on her plate. They had all agreed once Kaede had been unanimously voted as Class Representative to make Shuichi Vice Representative for when Kaede was away for performances. Made the most sense at the time, he was her best friend and was responsible. “It’s not common or serious enough that I ever think she needs fuckin’ therapy or crap like that. But sometimes she hits a wall. Or somebody says something that she can’t let go and she looks like a kicked puppy, even when she’s in the wrong. It’s so god-damn pathetic, but I can’t help but feel bad for her. Woman’s like a parasite.”

Kokichi laughed manically at that, finding quite the humour in Miu’s appraisal of how pitiable Kaede was when a cloud hung over her head.

“I don’t think it’s depression. She just loses some of that pep and energy she needs to face the day, and then _I_ have to drag her sorry ass around because otherwise she’s just going through the motions and moping all day long. _“Let’s just stay in bed Miu, I don’t want to go in today, Miu. They can handle themselves, Miu. They don’t need me. They’re better off without me, Miu.”_ Ugh! She makes me want to start cuttin’ throats!” 

__

__

“…Hers or ours?” Rantaro asked with a sly and nervous smile.

“Both, because she needs to realize not everybody in the world is gonna like you and like how you handle things. And some days are harder than others no matter how good you are at something. Oh, and she needs to lighten her workload and cut herself some slack.” 

“God, that’s a mood.” Kokichi added. “And Miu’s an expert at people not liking her!”

“Not wrong.” The Strawberry-blonde shrugged. For a moment the Supreme Leader almost looked as if he were about to apologise, but Miu seemed to brush the comment off without any noticeable effect. “Difference is I don’t give a shit if people like me or not. I’m a Genius who has done more to help the world than any of their worthless asses, the fuck cares about them?” 

“Remarkably healthy way of dealing with that, I guess.” Rantaro said, quietly. 

“Yeah, well, she’s not like that. Kaediot wants to make everyone happy: a selfless altruistic dumbass and a self-destructive, self-fulfilling prophecy.”

“…Want to use the prefix _“Self”_ anymore there, genius?” Kokichi asked, only to be flipped off by Miu.

“Yeah: Go fuck your _self!_ ” Miu was particularly proud of that one. “How long are you going to take?”

“Oh, I was done about ten minutes ago!” Kokichi gleefully admitted, pulling his lockpick free of the door and pulled it open. “Voila!” 

“Wha…but…why the hell did you not open it then?!” Miu shouted, incensed with the shortest of their trio, trembling with barely contained rage.

“It was a lie! I just enjoy our conversations so that I didn’t want to tell you! Nishishishi!” 

“ _ **I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD, KOKICHI, I WILL POST-BIRTH ABORT YOU!**_ ” Miu shouted with no regards for the stealth they had relied on up until that point. 

“Wouldn’t be your first!” He jested back at Miu, who was grinding her teeth at the boy. He didn’t even so much as flinch. “Go on then, Kayayday is waiting for you!” 

“Don’t call her that, she’ll flip out…” Rantaro muttered, trying to moderate and play diplomat between the two as he pulled at one of the loose waves of hair falling down his forehead.

“Fiiiiiiine…” Kokichi pouted. Miu simply pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled through her mouth, calming herself down.

“You guys may as well head back. I’ll make sure she gets home.” Miu said. 

“You sure?” Rantaro asked. He hadn’t been of any use, but then again, he had only attached himself to the situation out of happenstance and opportunity to get away from Tsumugi, rather than being a necessary component of the infiltration. 

“Yeah. Thanks for coming, anyway. Explaining things helps put them in perspective anyway. So, thanks for putting up with my shit. Or Kaediot’s shit. Whatever.” 

Rantaro gestured for Kokichi to follow, and the Ultimate Supreme Leader hopped up to his feet, beginning his stride with the adventurous enigma, before turning back to Miu.

“Hey, Miu.”

“Yeah, shortie?” The strawberry-blonde asked.

“Tell her I care, okay? She’s not alone.” 

Miu scoffed. “Another lie?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But not all lies are designed to hurt.” The purple-haired boy shrugged, and was soon on his way, Miu staring after him contemplatively. She shook her head and closed the door into the school behind her.

The hallways of Hope’s Peak Academy during the AM are filled with a dense fog of shadow. Miu could barely see a few feet in front of herself. It was as quiet as the grave, and whether it was because of the time of day, or the atmosphere transcending mere metaphor, there was a chill in the air. Fortunately, Miu carried a utility belt at all times. It was devoid of all the fun equipment, anything sharp or dangerous after enrolment because of a few members of staff voicing their concerns over potential damage to school property and the health and safety of the student body. It was mainly there for show now, a hollow imitation of something with _actual_ utility and purpose, but Miu always made sure to carry a flashlight with her and that was appreciated given the circumstances. 

She flicked it on and cut a ray of light through the layers of twisted shadow, packed layer on layer, to find where she needed to go. The place was a ghost town, but that was hardly a surprise. For such a prestigious school, Miu had expected at least some security. A patrolling guard, CCTV, heat or infrared sensors to pick up on somebody breaking in. She wasn’t so naïve to think there wasn’t something like that, but in her quick once-over of the hallway, she found little to suggest it. Maybe it would be worth bringing the issues up with the security- or lack thereof- within the building to a senior member of staff. Offer to do something pro bono for once, if only because the thought of Kaede inside of this building after hours with no protection sent her mind to the worst possible places. Miu performed some rudimentary breathing exercises. Nothing fancy. She was not suffering a panic attack, because there was nothing to panic over, but she never wanted to imagine harm coming to Kaede. It unsettled her. She would rain hellfire down on anybody who such brushed a single golden lock out of place upon that girl’s head. 

She was precious to Miu. Like Hell would she act like the coward she knew herself to be. Miu wasn’t good at confrontations. She wasn’t good at arguing. She _always_ knew the answer, but socialising was a bitch, and she struggled to properly phrase her argument in such a way that was understood. More often than not it would come out a garbled, offensive and vulgar mess and everyone would assume that it’s just Iruma Miu being Iruma Miu, an idiot with her head in the clouds. 

Well, fuck them. They were wrong. They didn’t know shit about Iruma Miu. One thing they should know if they didn’t want to get fed into a woodchipper is that Miu doesn’t let anybody pick on Akamatsu Kaede and get away with it. Miu had always lacked a certain sense of self-confidence in anything that didn’t involve her hands- kinky or otherwise- but for Kaede she made an effort. She would stand tall with her shoulders squared and wouldn’t let people boss her around as much. If only for Kaede’s sake more than anything. 

Miu found the staircase that travelled up the building to where she needed to go. The first floor was mostly designed for regular classrooms. Second floor was homerooms and collective labs, a place where everyone within a particular talent pool (engineering in Miu’s case, Music in Kaede’s case, law and order/justice in Shuichi’s case) could collectivise and discuss particular issues they were having and work together to solve them if need be. The third floor was what Miu needed. That was the floor designated for the First Years’ Talent Labs. Individual spaces for practice and personal development, as well as personal sanctuary for when the world seemed like too much. 

Far be it for Miu to judge Kaede for locking herself down in there. Miu had spent many restless nights in her own Talent lab, just soldering different scraps and tech together to make some ungodly monstrosity that somehow operated even if logic dictated it shouldn’t.

It reminded Miu of an old childhood memory of hers. The first thing she had made came from pure inspiration one day. Life had been a struggle, but not hard. Her Father had owned an old appliance store. It mainly dealt with repairs. Odds and ends that needed fixing, and her Father was constantly taking apart one thing to fix another. Miu learned a lot just by watching him, she saw how components looked when they worked, and what they looked like when the broke. What could be salvaged and what had to be scrapped. Just because a thing was old and ugly didn’t mean it couldn’t be used again. One day in a sweltering Summer, their air-conditioning unit had broken. Miu had the genius idea of taking all the fans from the desk-fans around the store, removing them and their wiring, and hooked them all up to the internals of the unit that still operated fine. A practical solution to a practical problem through an unorthodox method. Okay, sure, the thing only worked for five seconds before the power draw overloaded the breaker switch and shut down _all_ the electricity across the whole block, but that just gave Miu another problem to solve. And Miu was happiest and most content when she had something to fix. It was her purpose. Her reason for being in this world. Something that would only be exacerbated after the car crash. Sometimes the thing she made was useless, the product of pure inspiration for a problem that did not yet exist. 

But Miu was good like that. Part of the talent was inventing things she didn’t need or want to invent at all. Miu had learnt in her time focusing on the lives of other inventors that sometimes what you put together or discover isn’t always appreciated the way you thought it would be, and sometimes they went completely ignored for decades after you faded from memory until somebody found a purpose for it again.

The old anecdote about Alfred Bernhard Nobel of course came to mind. To many it was an amusing tale of a man who discovered a use for a particular chemical compound, and it was used for purposes he personally found terrifying and contradicted the very notion that fuelled (no pun intended) its discovery. To Miu it was the horrifying and daunting nature of the world. So easily could something you thought to be harmless become the next great terror unleashed onto mankind. Did John Norton truly expect the conical bullet to wreck so much havoc across the globe? Did Ernest Rutherford truly expect that splitting the atom would lead to the world being perched on the edge of Nuclear annihilation? Did anybody in the Manhattan Project? Truly? Without reservation and full awareness of the potential damnation they were contributing to? No. Of course not. Miu knew better than that, because the path to Hell was paved with good intentions, not bad. It was the foolish and the optimistic who damned the world, not the evil and callous. They knew when to stop because they understood their goal and what it led towards. But not the wilfully blind. 

It was easy to be so blasé about spending all night in your Talent Lab when you didn’t have existential dread creeping up on you from around every corner. That’s why Kaede did it. All she did was entertain people. Good or bad, and she was always good, all she had to worry about was leaving the crowd with a smile, cheering for her to perform an encore. She never had to concern herself with reinventing the wheel, and then that invention being used on a genocidal campaign that crossed the fine line between anecdote and Empire. Sometimes Miu felt the pressure of being a practical version of Nietzsche. Maybe that was the ego talking. But you couldn’t deny the possibility of it happening, and that was worse than actually doing it. The unknown was what scared her. Left her paralysed.

That’s why she didn’t like spending more time in her lab than necessary. Inventions were a long line of dominoes, hastily arranged and tightly packed, so once one went down nothing would stop the ramifications. Miu tried to only work on commissions these days. Provide people with something safe, wholesome, fix a particular issue and deny them service if she thought it crept too closely to becoming a danger beyond its intended use. 

Miu supposed she resented Kaede a little because of that. She hated that _resentment_ seemed like the proper word for it, because she shouldn’t think of the person she cared about more than anyone else (ignoring _Daddy Dearest_ and _herself_ ) in such a light. She was honest-to-goodness proud of everything Kaede did. She loved listening to the recordings of Kaede’s performances on the internet, how beautifully she managed to extract those glorious notes, honey dewed sounds that sent shivers down the spine and pulled you into an entirely different world where everything flowed in perfect concordance with one-another, from her Grand Piano to the pleasure of hundreds of well-dressed elites. But Kaede had it easy. Or would have it easy if she let herself. But Miu probably wouldn’t have fallen for her as quickly if Kaede lived that way. Still, it was hard not to be jealous of the carefree nature she treated her talent. It was everything that she was, everything that encompassed her being, she relied on the piano for purpose. And she fully engrossed herself within that passion of hers. Where Miu second-guessed herself and doubted and wavered over every little screw and wiring choice, Kaede just chose a piece that suited how she felt, and what she wanted to convey, and she just did it. Maybe she would be a little indecisive now and again when there were too many good choices, or she felt conflicted, or was emotionally weathered, but it was hardly the same issue to face off against. Yes, Miu was jealous of her girlfriend. She thought that Kaede didn’t think enough of how complicated the world was, that there would be consequences for every decision you made. Kaede would be, adorably, dismissive of the concern though. To her, everything would work out because it had to. And if it wasn’t going to, she would make it. Headstrong. Annoyingly persistent. Akamatsu Kaede. 

And Miu did care for her because of that, much as the juxtaposition frustrated her so.

Miu finally found herself outside of Kaede’s Talent Lab. A thin strip of light bled out into the darkness from under the exquisitely crafted door. There were detailed illustrations carved into the oak of the door, musical notes, caricatures of pianos and even the Sydney Opera House featured towards the base, spanning over half the door in totality. Above it, painted onto the opaque glass of the window into the room, was Kaede’s name and Talent. Hope’s Peak always went out its way to personalise every Talent Lab. They were meant to be special, easily identifiable with the student’s respective talent and always a _little_ tacky. Each and every design was reflective of the importance and nature that the Talent provided the world. Classical music was held to a high regard by Hope’s Peak, even if it had little in the way of practical use. But the high arts always were, they carried culture and history and _philosophy_ with them that some practical skills didn’t. Music was a wonderful gift to the world and in a world where music was becoming more industrialised, synthesised, and commodified the classics and painstakingly handcrafted melodies of a Grand Piano by the hands of a Master wouldn’t go underappreciated. Kaede had already played multiple symphonies for delegates and investors during general meetings with the Academy’s stakeholders. Kaede was already a minor celebrity within the school- whatever that counted for, given half the student body already had _millions_ of fans before stepping into the esteemed halls- and was a favourite of the faculty already despite being a First Year. They spared no expense on her, meeting any and every request she made. She was too humble to ask for much, but Miu imagined there would be little they wouldn’t grant if she tried.

Miu clicked her flashlight off and twirled it in her hand, holstering it like a Peacemaker. She depressed the door handle and stepped inside. She spent several seconds adjusting to the influx of light hitting her. She closed the door behind her and expected to see the immaculate room she would spend time in with Kaede now and again. Wide-stretching walls with arched windows, velvet curtains drawn back with golden thread. Pastel purple walls decorated with notes and names of great composers in elegant cursive. Stacks of biographies, anthologies, guides, essays and magazines lining the walls. Sheet paper kept neatly packed for original compositions. CDs and old records along with a radio and old phonograph respectfully for easy listening and relaxation. There was even an old cassette player with cassettes from decades past, Sellotape plastered over the front with the name of the track scribbled on it. Miu expected to see the tapestry of musical history in perfect order and arrangement, something Kaede had always adored and revered about the room.

Instead Miu found nothing but chaos and destruction. Sheet music was torn and scattered all over the room, blotted with ink that had yet to dry and was covered in aggressive, violent crossings out. Several of the cassettes had fallen to the ground below, making a messy pile with some of the cases cracked. There was a snapped CD, a dent and mark on the wall above it along with the plastic shards of the case scattered around it. The sheet music was thick on the ground, Miu felt as if she was wading through a swamp from how her feet sunk beneath it to the ankle. Some of it was crumpled into jagged balls, the rest was laid bare like a confession of inability and failure. It all surged towards the centre of the room, where it stopped suddenly almost on command around the raised plinth that Kaede’s Grand Concert Piano rested upon. 

It looked like a murder scene, some embittered chaos between assailant and victim as they danced the dance of shared demise. Miu’s heart stilled, but she soon found the object of her anxiety, snoozing peacefully.

And there she sat. Doubled over, head laid upon her arms crossed over the closed case of her keyboard; head tilted to the side and mascara running. Surprisingly, she looked at peace. Like she had already worked it all out of her system. Dark black blotches of said mascara marked her sleeves and the pristine case she was sleeping on. Kaede had the habit of snoring when she slumbered. They were gentle and quiet, and more than once Miu had found herself mesmerised with their sound, just watching the Pianist as her chest rose and fell with every accompanying breath. They were adorable, never a distraction but always noticeable. They carried the pleasant tone of her voice. She seemed so tranquil it almost felt like a crime to disturb her then. Miu could only guess what had brought on this reaction for Kaede, but it had tired her out immensely. Leaving her to rest wouldn’t have been the worst thing to do. But she needed to check her girlfriend was all-right. 

Miu stepped over the ocean of paper and onto the platform of Kaede’s piano. She glided her fingers along the top board of the piano; laminated hard maple dyed lavender. It was smooth to the touch, more like air than wood. Miu slowly approached Kaede’s flank, stood next to the bench the pianist was sat on. She tapped her fingers a few times in a low beat, a song Kaede had played a few times for her that she couldn’t quite recall the name of. Kaede loved the song. It was haunting, but beautiful and elegant. She resisted the urge to wake Kaede then and there and ask her what the song was called, instead just focusing on the small puffs of breath rhythmically leaving the girl’s parted lips. There was a loose strand of Kaede’s hair that was tickling her nose. Miu leaned in to brush it away, tucking it behind her ear, and smiled down at the slumbering girl. 

“Guess what happened earlier really got to you, huh?” Miu muttered, low and quiet enough she wouldn’t rouse the blonde. Miu gave a once-over to the room again, all the controlled chaos encircling the plinth. “Yeah, looks like it.” Miu tapped away again, sucking on her bottom lip in thought. “I’m still mad at you. You can be the most arrogant bitch when you think you know best. Yeah, yeah, I know; look who’s talking. But babe…” Miu sighed, running a hand through her hair, fixing her goggles, doing everything could to buy herself time when she didn’t need to. Nobody but herself could hear this conversation. Really, more of a lecture, she supposed. “I could never say this to you if you were awake. I’m not…I’m really fuckin’ awful at saying how I feel. But you know that by now. Point is, I like how you treat everything like a personal crusade. I like how strong you are. You don’t know the meaning of backing down. Even when it hurts you. And I _love_ you for that. The thing is though…” Miu slid onto the bench by Kaede, voice barely above a whisper. “Maki isn’t going to see the world the way you are. She likes to be by herself. You can’t force her to be your friend 24/7. She’s just going to resent you and yell at you like she did earlier today. I don’t even think she hates you; I think you’re one of the few people she’ll even consider tolerating. But she’s a frigid bitch, so what can you expect?” Miu chuckled. “You gotta learn to let go a little, okay? Give people some space. Not everyone’s me or Gonta, or Shuichi or Kaito. Shit, even _Kokichi_ told me to tell you he cares. Can’t take that fucker at his word, but you know…all the same.” Miu swallowed, rubbing up and down her arm nervously. “Dunno what good it’d do if I did tell you this when you could listen. You’d do what you were going to do anyway. When you’re determined, you’re determined. But I hate seeing this…” Miu brushed a finger down Kaede’s watery cheeks. “How useless of an inventor am I when I can’t even think of a way to stop you from being upset? Fuck me, you’d think with how good I give it to you that you’d be in a state of _fucking_ Nirvana, pun well and truly intended by the by. But nah. Shit never works out that easily.

“You wear your heart on your sleeve and I wrack my head about how a sensitive pussy like you can be kept happy. I was always thinking that y’know? How do I keep this chick happy? At first, I thought it was just because you would be less bothersome and leave me alone. In retrospect, I guess that was my bias subverting my own Golden Brain. Guess that makes even a gorgeous girl genius like myself no better than a horny teenager, doesn’t it? I mean, if I had let you just finger yourself and cry your problems away, complain to Shyhara all day long, I wouldn’t have to do anything. I could keep inventing and find some other dumb broad to satisfy my “Blonde Bitches Banged” yearly quota. 

“I was obsessed over how to make you happy, though. I liked you that much. And I still don’t know the answer, do I?” Miu looked down at Kaede, tracing her lips with a finger. Her heart swelled at the sight, wanting nothing more than to break the curse and wake _Princess Peach_ up with a kiss. Miu was fairly sure she was confusing fairy tale with video games there, but it didn’t matter. “Kaede, you’re a question I don’t have an answer to. And I’m sorry for that.” Miu tapped her foot, furrowing her brow in thought. “…But that won’t stop me from trying to make you happy.” Miu’s face became a dusted pink, and she hid behind a gloved hand. “God fucking damn it, you can’t even hear me and I-I’m l-like this…f-fuck, I h-hate this mushy shit…”

Miu was silent for a few precious seconds, taking in more of the room. The damage was fairly self-contained and minor. It was unsurprising, it was Kaede, she had always emphasised her upper-body strength was miniscule at best. Perfect for playing the piano, nothing more. Made sense the amount of destruction she could cause would be inconsequential. Kaede was typically allowed to remain on school premises after hours because of her perfect record, faultless attendance and impeccable behaviour. Never a problem for anyone or anything. Never so much as raised her voice at a teacher. Maybe a student or two, but that was only because they were the one acting out and Kaede was a stickler for the rules. 

However, Miu imagined that particular privilege would be rescinded after they discovered the state of the Pianist’s Talent Lab.

“C’mon, Babe…” Miu brought her hand to Kaede’s shoulder and nudged her. “Time to wake up.” She urged, and slowly the blonde began to groan, hand weakly batting at Miu’s soft disturbances. 

“Noooooo…” She whined, adorably. She rubbed her face into her arms, trying to get comfortable and bury herself in the soft fabric of her sleeves to escape her growing consciousness, hoping the darkness would embrace her and save her from the inconvenience. 

“Yes…” Miu drawled, changing from her nudging to a gentle stroke of her hand down Kaede’s back, drawing circles on her spine. “Wakey-wakey, Princess.” 

Against her better judgement, Kaede slowly pushed herself up from her desk. There was a hiss that escaped her mouth as she rubbed at the stiffness in her neck from sleeping as she had. Tears pricked free from her eyes, but more from the yawn that ripped through her lips than anything else. She turned to see Miu sat next to her, on the bench of her piano, smiling. Kaede’s eyes widened in surprise and she looked about, like a rabbit evaluating its surroundings for predators, before looking to her girlfriend.

“M-Miu? W-What are you doing…?” Kaede began to question, although it seemed to quickly dawn on her just why Miu was here and why it was so dark outside. Her shoulders slumped, and shame pulled at her features. “Oh…”

“Mornin’.” Miu greeted.

Kaede’s head glanced to the windows, eyes wide, and then returned to the inventor. “Night.”

“Don’t be such a pedantic pussy.” Miu retorted. “Mind checking your phone for me?” Miu asked, smile fading and looking much less hospitable. 

Kaede worried her lip, looking about for her phone, checking the pockets of her skirt but came up empty. A nervous smile pulled at her lips and she rubbed the back of her neck with one hand, the other tapping over the cover of her keyboard. “I umm…don’t know where it is…” Kaede winced. 

As much as Miu could make her point with words alone, it was rare the tables were flipped on them like this. Seldom was she ever afforded the chance to convey Kaede’s failings through a practical means. It was a little selfish, even sadistic, but she truly had been worried and the scene she had found only vindicated those worries. Miu pulled out her own phone, found Kaede at the top of her contacts- flanked by love hearts and music notes (as requested by the Pianist herself)- and tapped the call icon. She sat it down between the two of them and bore a hole through Kaede with her unimpressed stare, waiting for the jingle to resonate from within the room. If it did, she could make her point as planned. If it didn’t, oh boy would there be _Hell_ to pay. 

Fortunately, for Kaede at least and her ears, there came a muffled tune, the same muffled tune that Miu had been tapping earlier that she _still_ couldn’t remember. Initially the pair of them couldn’t isolate the direction the jingle was coming from, heads on a swivel, snapping right and left several times. Eventually Kaede noticed a distorted pink light emanating from under a piece of sheet music next to the platform. The Pianist removed it to see the source was her phone, a picture of Miu she had taken acting as the caller ID for her girlfriend; a particularly scandalous picture where Miu had been posing normally beforehand, but right as Kaede shifted her vision down to the screen to take the picture Miu had leaned forward and begun to pull at the neck of her uniform, providing Kaede with even more cleavage than normal. Kaede had kept it, mainly at Miu’s insistence. However, she couldn’t deny the…advantages of having a picture like that available to her at all times. 

Kaede picked up the phone, answered it and smiled sheepishly at the inventor, lowering herself down so both cheek and phone pressed into the laminated lilac of the piano cover. “Helloooooo…?”

“Kaede.” Miu rolled her eyes, thinking the blonde was acting absurd given their proximity. 

“Please, Miu? For me?” she batted her long, golden eyelashes at Miu, and the strawberry blonde was left agape, flustered, choking on her own words that couldn’t properly form into anything coherent, mouth simply opening and closing like a goldfish. 

Miu dropped her head, thankful for her long fringe veiling her face at that angle and answered her own phone. “H-Hello…”

“Sorry I didn’t answer your calls, sweetheart…” Miu briefly darted her eyes to judge Kaede’s expression: she threaded her teeth through her lips, a coy but guilty smile barely tugging her lips up. She was so pure and sweet. If Miu was the sexiest girl alive- _no doubt about it, I am_ \- then Kaede had to be the prettiest. The cutest. A bombshell in her own right. She hardly even noticed it half the time, Kaede moved and lived with a grace and elegance all of her own. No pretence, it all came naturally, and she never knew how to deal with it. Miu was one of the few who would actually detract and disparage Kaede’s looks ( _mainly her lacklustre rack, and really, that was only in comparison to my own_ ) and even that was mainly a defence mechanism along with Miu’s own struggles at properly socialising. Kaede’s beauty was silent, Miu’s was loud and proud, and Miu was thankful for that. Thankful for when they found a moment of respite, and she could just see the way Kaede’s eyes twinkled as they thought of the future, lost in the countless opportunities she would refuse to pass up, thinking about how she would make people smile. That alone was enough to make Miu smile. People like Kaede were scarce, a diamond in the rough. 

“You make it so fuckin’ hard to be mad at you…” Miu sighed, with a shake of her head. 

“Sorry!” Kaede chuckled sitting back up, lowering her phone, ending their call abruptly. She fisted her hands on her lap, staring down at them, smiling wistfully. “Really sorry…” She wiped at her eyes, staining her sleeves more with her mascara, but she didn’t seem to care. The bags under her eyes- something Miu had only just realised were there- from all the stress indicated how tired she was. Her appearance didn’t really matter. She sniffed, trying to compose herself, wanting to look less pitiful. 

“We need to talk, Kaede.”

The blonde exhaled sharply, nodding. “Yeah…guess we do.” She tapped her phone’s screen, numerous texts and missed calls pinged her screen, all of them from Miu. It was evident the way Kaede knit her brow together and squeezed her eyes shut that she had done wrong, made a mistake. “I’m really sorry…”

“Save it, for now.” Miu was curt, but not cruel in her delivery. She sought out Kaede’s hand, giving it a squeeze and made the Pianist look her way. “You fucked up, okay? It’s okay to fuck up. I do it all the time.”

“Miu…” Miu pressed a finger from her free hand to Kaede’s lips to silence her.

“Speaking privileges revoked, okay? Right now is _listening_ time. You’re good at that, you always say so, from all the years of playing piano.” 

“Well, I’m no Ibuki but-” Kaede felt Miu’s finger lift up from her lips and flicked her on the forehead. She squeaked in surprise, the pain was minor, but the mortification of being treated like a child was what cut deepest. “Ow! Miu!” Miu flicked her again.

“ _Listening time_ , not talking time, beautiful.” Miu emphasised, speaking slowly as if talking to a child. “You can have those privileges back when I’m done, capiche?” Kaede rubbed at her forehead, an adorable pout on her lips, eyes narrowed, but she remained silent this time. Miu would kiss it better later, she decided. “Like I said, it’s okay to fuck up. Sometimes, people don’t mesh well. Sometimes even if you think there’s chemistry, you end up as a dull and boring fuck, y’know?” No, Kaede did not know, since her only point of reference was Miu, but Miu knew the blonde knew better than the interrupt once she was on a roll. “I get she’s a classmate, I get she’s friends with your friends, and I know you want her to feel welcomed and appreciated, but Maki isn’t like the rest of us, okay? Personally, I think she’s _fucking terrifying_ and the spawn of Satan!” Kaede snorted back her laughter, trying to hide behind her palm. “No way does a Titless skank like that raise kids, no way no how. Maybe the Grim Reaper’s kids, but that’s beside the point. She isn’t quick to trust, that should be evident. Fuck knows what the space Dumbass sees in her, but she’s at least willing to open up to him somehow. Dunno how a moron like him gets through to her, but hey, nobody thought you would be my ball and chain, so I guess you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.” Kaede managed a small blush at that, and a proud smile. “…I’m not sure where I’m going with this anymore, so I’m done! Oh, yeah, give her some room and don’t beat yourself up. I think that was the gist of it.”

Kaede simply stared at Miu, silence settling between them. Miu tapped her foot a few times, hoping for Kaede to say something, but the blonde only tilted her head curiously, pointing to her lips.

“Ah, right. Sure, speaking privileges returned.” Miu rolled her eyes playfully. 

“Thanks.” Kaede smiled before thinning her lips and looking down at the lilac case of her piano, tracing her fingers over the smooth wood, cold to the touch, sending shivers up her neck. “Oh, umm…thanks for threatening to beat her up though for making me cry, by the way…" Kaede turned to her piano, hardening her stare and made Miu wait patiently for where next she saw fit to push the direction of their conversation. She looked as if she was preoccupied with her own thoughts, grappling with them and how to phrase everything, brow scrunching together. “I owe you an apology. I didn’t mean to make you worry, honest, but I just lost track of time and…” Kaede wiped at her eyes again, trying to hide the sniffle behind the action. An ineffective deception that Miu saw right through. “Yeah, I was mad at Maki. She said some really mean things to me. I was really…mad at her.” Kaede sighed, slumping her shoulders forward. “I don’t think she was wrong though. And you’re not either: I know that. To be honest, I’m surprised she put up with me for nearly the whole day, badgering her to hang out with us. I needed somewhere to myself and you know this is the only place in the world that is mine…that I can do what I’m good at and cry without being afraid of somebody catching me…”

“Kaede…” Miu’s frown deepened, except this time it wasn’t in her typical combative exasperation or callousness. She didn’t like the idea that Kaede had to hide her tears. Kaede tried to act the leader, tried to pretend she could shoulder a lot more than what was healthy. It never ended particularly well. But that was Kaede to a fault.

“But I’m fine! I swear!” Kaede held up her hands defensively, trying to put on her bravest face. The puffy red cheeks and long-streaking stains down her face didn’t exactly paint a convincing picture though. She smiled wide but it didn’t reach her eyes. That pissed Miu off. Because it was a lie, and not a good lie, and if she wanted to be lied to, she would hang out with Kokichi, not her girlfriend.

“Don’t give me crap like that, Bakamatsu.” Miu growled, sliding over closer to the pianist, brandishing a finger so sharp Kaede nearly flinched back, afraid it would cut her into ribbons. “Look at this place!” Miu gestured wildly at the wanton destruction, the blonde shirking away and into herself. “Babe, we both know you can do better than that. Cut the shit and be honest with me.”

“It’s…it’s just…” Kaede fisted her hands in the air between them, face contorted with confusion and inability to properly vocalise her issue. “L-Let me just show you…” Kaede suggested, slipping her fingers under the piano cover. Once it was raised, she reached for her music sheet and flipped through the anthology of scribbles until she settled on something she had once told Miu had been _relatively_ easy to grasp for a novice: _Der Flohwalzer_. Miu didn’t protest Kaede’s demonstration, albeit she certainly thought it a strange decision _now_ of all times. She slipped away behind the bench and stood curiously as Kaede took her usual position.

Miu had become quite accustom to this sight and Kaede’s habitual rituals she would perform in preparation for playing. Kaede would reach back, fix her hairclips, and then run her hands three times each through both sides of her golden tresses, flicking them back over her shoulders. She would then shake her head, pushing them forward again. She’d bring her hands in front of her face, offer a long inhale and then exhale, rolling her wrists three times forwards, and two times backwards, as if sucking in the energy of the room and leaving it at a lurch, stilted of atmosphere, like the air had been driven out. Then she would click each finger and thumb and sway her head side to side, humming the first few notes of whatever it was she was going to play. 

Miu was used to this, and filthy jokes aside, she was used to seeing Kaede from behind. She had become fluent in the body language of Kaede’s back, how those shoulders would always square and rise tight and bound, defiantly. She learnt to read the feelings there, decipher them, and admire the honesty within them. Kaede was honest no matter how she tried to change herself. Always a tell. Always a tick. No matter if they were the meek, cowering bystander, or the beautiful and radiant pianist that captured the hearts of all who watched her. Something more, something less, she always straddled the line between the two. 

Miu always thought about how strong and large she appeared for such a dainty thing, how her neck loomed long and powerful under the waves of shimmering Midas that drenched and crowned her head in light. In the effervescence of the moon, it’s cool metallic Silverlight bleeding through the curtains, Kaede hardly even seemed real. More a phantom of the piano than a girl. It was easy to catch herself bewitched by that vestige, ready to be pulled under and drowned in her beauty and the fluidity of her movements like a raging river cutting through the landscape of the room.

And then her hands came down like rainfall. But not like Miu knew. Because that back was tense. Her neck seemed strained. And her hands were violent. Akamatsu Kaede was the Ultimate Pianist for a reason. No Ultimate is perfect, no Ultimate is without fault or insecurity. But these were always the exception when they _did_ occur. They were transient, here in a second and gone in another. The beauty Kaede etched into the hearts of onlookers was immortal and the private failures she endured were mortal. 

Perhaps not to her though since every failure seemed to leave another scar on her soul. 

The first few notes sound like they were trapped underwater; distorted and confused. They lingered for too long, lagged behind where they should have been. Der Flohwalzer was an easy piece to learn. Kaede had even convinced Miu to give it a chance, with her tutelage, and she had gotten a fairly easy grasp of it before it was over. It was really more a case of muscle memory than it was understanding the written formula behind it. Once you memorised the location of the important keys and their corresponding effects, it became simple enough to string it together. Even then there was a difference between a novice like Miu and an Ultimate like Kaede. Maybe it was just the experience, the knowledge of the piece, but Kaede could make anything into an instant classic. Her music was like the whispers of ancients, honeyed words of gods into the zealot’s ear, the brush of a summer’s tide onto the innumerable grains of sand waiting for that lover’s caress. The jingle of chimes in a breeze and the bristle of leaves in the wind. 

This was oh so different though. Nothing clicked. Nothing connected. There was no synthesis in the piece. Rather, it was a loosely connected series of chords and the subsequent triad was atomised and compartmentalised that it did not flow like it had before. Miu had never heard such dissonance from anything Kaede had performed. With each passing note the sound was more strained, more like an animal’s pained wail than the symphony of a generational prodigy. 

And it showed on Kaede’s back. From behind, like so many times before, but this time Kaede’s back bubbled with anger. This song should have been no problem for her. She pulled herself in tighter, pushed herself out wider, moderated to the middle, but the sound didn’t improve. It was strangled and dying and no matter how hard she fought it seemed to die quicker and in more agony. With a final, desperate cry, Kaede threw her hands up into the air in submission of her failure. 

Miu said nothing. She walked over to her partner and tentatively put her hand to Kaede’s back and drew tinny circles, love hearts and indiscrete messages along it. She waited in painful patience for Kaede to speak again, hunched over and on the verge of crying.

“No…no matter how hard I try I couldn’t…” Her voice was shattered. Bereft of that strength and enthusiasm for life she knew it to have. “I can’t get it to sound right. Beethoven, Chopin, Bach, Mozart, Tchaikovsky- I can’t get any of them right! My hands…” Kaede brought them ahead of herself. The look she gave the trembling digits was nearly indecipherable, but it certainly wasn’t positive. “I tried all night long…nothing worked.” 

Miu understood now. _Musician’s block_ , she supposed. She had never seen Kaede like this though. Never been driven to such drastic measures of expression. Then again, she had always relied on the piano to express what she couldn’t with words. Now that wasn’t working, and it must have been tearing her up inside. Miu put it down to the stress, the globetrotting, the reliance everyone had on her for leadership and executive fiat. Maki had been the final straw, and really Miu could hardly blame the Caregiver for telling Kaede to mind her own business. But still, looking at Kaede be reduced to this _hurt_. She just kept rubbing the blonde’s back and for the life of her she did not so much as hum a tune this time, lest it offend her partner. 

“If you need time to cool off by playing, that’s cool. I won’t leave you.” Miu offered, and Kaede flashed her a tired, but grateful smile. Her hands quickly got to work.

Kaede began again, out of instinct or defiance- Miu wasn’t too sure. But she sat there on the bench and Kaede toiled and struggled with organising the dissonant pieces into a comprehensive whole. She barely got through the first arrangement before she reset herself, tried again, groaned and growled at herself and tried again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again…

She tried for hours and Miu didn’t move to stop her at all. She waited by Kaede’s side as her support until she had nothing left to give, or she put it all together finally. They didn’t leave that Talent Lab until the sun had rose for the following morning. Kaede was out on her feet by then, truly instinct this time being all that could force her to continue. Miu pulled Kaede onto her feet by the elbow, ushering her lover with faint and tired whispers for them to return to the dorms. Kaede barely had any energy to refuse, and allowed herself to be brought home, finally. 

Sometimes just being there for Kaede to pour all of her angst and frustration out to was enough. Miu was never a good talker, always filled with innuendos, vulgarities and defence mechanisms that made the Maginot line look pathetic (ignoring the obvious glaring historical issues with that particular defensive line). Even so, Miu could listen. And support. She would be there for moments like that when Kaede needed her most. 

Because damned would Iruma Miu be anything apart from the hardest working girlfriend, even if not the best. Because that’s what Kaede deserved. And nothing less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> These 10k chapters need to stop being a thing, how did I even accomplish that not once but twice in a row?
> 
> This time around was Miu-centric. As you can see, there's some explicit references to Kaede's execution within this chapter such as a room with a piano in it being labelled a "murder-scene", Kaede struggling to play "Der Flohwalzer" and her being labelled as more a ghost of the piano than a girl. Obviously I took artistic licence with those things. Ultimately it's still her head-strong naivety that costs her, like in game, but this time she's not alone and isolated. She has Miu there to lean on when she needs her, especially when she doesn't ask for it. 
> 
> Next time: We delve into Kirumi Toujo's diary and examine the events of Kaede's disappearance from a more neutral figure.


	4. Diary of Toujo Kirumi- Entry for September 27th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirumi reflects on what was a turbulent day, emotionally...

_Dear Diary,_

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_Ah yes, the peaceful solitude of clandestine ink upon paper, secured and fastened through metal and bolts. One of the few in which my most private thoughts and considerations may best be protected and hidden from the public. A Maid’s duties lie forever and always with those whom she serves, but we are human all the same. We think. We feel. We touch. We taste. We thirst. In these rare moments of solitude, I have but myself and you. My solemn, silent companion, more a mirror than a window into my soul, and it should come as no surprise that I appreciate our intimacy implicitly._

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_But enough of the preamble. I suppose a detailed list of today’s events would best structure this entry, would it not?_

_Drama is a word that I would not necessarily come to associate with my classmates nor the overarching impression I get when I think of Hope’s Peak Academy holistically. But one cannot deny that over a dozen hormonal teenagers, prodigies in their own right, in close proximity along with the autonomy we have been granted is always going to be subject to…taxing events, shall we say?_

_This is only for my own benefit, I assure you, but even so I still must preface this next item with the understanding that without Akamatsu Kaede’s constant support and her steadfast leadership ensuring that I will not become overburdened with my duties by our other classmates, I would have surely come loose at the seams. She is an important friend, and a wonderful person. She only thinks of others, and to her credit- not her detriment even though some may see it as a step down from the position as Ultimate Pianist- she would make an excellent Maid with her sense of duty and responsibility. If I were to analyse and dissect our relationship, I believe this would perhaps be what draw us to one-another. Two peas in a pod, as they say. I have nothing but gratitude and thanks for the equally thankless job she performs, much in the same way as myself._

_However, I would be…reticent in the purpose of this diary if I did not convey how today unfolded and how I personally feel about it. Kaede, bless her soul, is many things. They need not bear repeating, and I have spent ample time praising her character thus far, but the girl is not without fault. I have limited interaction with Harukawa Maki. But our relationship is cordial all the same. I would not describe her as soft spoken, but she is a woman of few words. Once again, much like how I believe there are parallels between myself and Kaede, I believe Maki and I share some similar traits. We are to the point and choose to expend as little time not fulfilling our respective duties. I have seen little of her own personal skill as the Ultimate Child Caregiver, though I imagine the dormitories make a poor setting for such a skill. Regardless, I do not engage her in conversation beyond polite greetings, a warm inquiry as to how she is doing and if she requires anything from myself. She is incredibly self-sufficient and independent. She flashes me a tight smile now and again, which is more than most can say, so I can only imagine my practical skills and respectful distance makes her feel secure enough around me for that. It was an unintended result of my professional philosophy, but I shall not complain._

__

__

_It would be arrogant of me to say I understand anything about Miss Harukawa beyond this appreciation of distance between people. She is not cold, not truly, but I do think she struggles to put trust in people as readily as Kaede does. I think, if anything, she may yearn to be more like Kaede. But it is fundamentally who she is not and to expect it of her would be a misstep. Unfortunately, despite my respectful insinuations that Kaede should maintain that distance, our self-proclaimed leader and Class Representative made it today’s objective to bridge the divide between the rest of the class and Maki._

_I should mention about how I did inform Kaede that Maki does in fact join both Momota Kaito and Saihara Shuichi in their late-night exercises. A peculiar trio, but I do like to keep an eye on them from the kitchen window into the courtyard where they practice as I clean up the dishes. They seem jovial enough. More than once I have seen Maki crack a smile, and even laugh around them. They all seem good friends. I suggested that perhaps the way to foster friendship with Maki was to participate within this group exercise, an environment and group Maki would not feel foreign in with multiple figures who knew her well. Shuichi is a dear friend of Kaede’s, and Kaito had taken quite a shine to her on top of this._

_But she dismissed the point offhand, proclaiming exercise is a weakness of hers and that her “wrists are only just about strong enough to play piano.” A fair response, but I do find myself admitting her alternative strategy of pestering Maki was…_

_~~Ignorant.~~ _

_~~~~_

_~~~~_

_~~Offensively ignorant.~~ _

_~~Yes. Ignorant is the only word I find myself settling on. Beyond simple wilful ignorance.~~ _

_Nevertheless, I do find myself toeing the line. On one hand, as much as Kaede did spend the better half of eight hours following Maki around, reorganising her schedule to compensate for the girl and inquiring about each and every one of her interests (all of which were thoroughly rebuked), I find myself of the opinion Maki herself is not entirely blameless. Maki can sometimes be too accommodating of others. And I believe her respect and even, dare I say it, admiration of Kaede forces herself to apply another layer of tolerance to the bright-eyed girl’s pep and cheer. Maki has a habit of passive-aggressively posturing toward Kaede, not making the point explicitly clear. Kaede is not dim-witted. Far from it. But unless she hears it plain and clear, spoken honestly, she shows an almost impressive ability to overlook what is being said to her. She believes it is being playful, or sarcastic (something I can forgive her for thinking, Maki bleeds sarcasm). Maki would have prevented a considerable level of drama and tears on the behalf of Kaede had she spoken her mind quicker, and with less edge and bite._

__

__

_My recollection is fairly sharp, so I will provide my best attempt at recounting the event itself:_

**_“Hey Maki, don’t worry if you can’t, but I wanted to know if you liked anything on Netflix or-”_ **

**__**

**__**

_**“Just. Shut. The. Hell. Up.”** _

_****_

_****_

_**“Whoa! Geez, Maki, what’s the matter?”** _

_**“Leave me alone, Akamatsu. Can’t you take a fucking hint?”** _

_**“Hey! What did I do? I’m just trying-!”** _

_**“Yeah! You’re always “just trying” aren’t you? Poor little Kaede, always going around trying to fix everything even when nobody asked. Maybe somebody might like you then, given you’re as bland as one of Kaito’s Space meals.”**_

_**“I…I don’t…”** _

_**“What, now you’re tongue tied? All day you’ve been chewing my ear off and now you’re god damn tongue tied, asshole?”** _

_**“M-Maki…”** _

_**“Spare me the waterworks, Princess. Maybe if you had realised sooner, we could have avoided this, but you know what? I’m done. Do you even stop to think if people like you? No, I mean actually like you. Do you think anybody would care about you if you weren’t prepared to fall on your sword for them? Everybody only cares to use you for that. And do you know what the worst part is? That’s exactly what you want to be because you’re too stunted to understand you’re being taken advantage of. It’s pathetic. You’re so desperate for friends, it makes me sick. Let me make this abundantly clear for you: No, I don’t want you to braid my hair. No, I don’t want to join you for getting our nails done. No, I am not interested in playing video games. No, I don’t want to bake with you. No, I don’t care for a study “sesh” with all the girls. And no: I do not care about whatever dead-in-the-grave composer is “all the rage” this week. Please, just leave me alone, Akamatsu, okay? I don’t care. I never cared. Quit trying.”** _

_**“I-I’m…o-okay…I-I-I’m s-sorry…”** _

_**“Hey, the fuck is going on here?!”**_

_**“M-Miu? N-No, d-don’t worry, w-we were just…”** _

**_“Did you fuckin’ make her cry?! Oh, I will knock your fuckin’ lights out, you washboard chested, two-tone assed cunt!”_**

_Fortunately enough, Kaito had overheard the shouting and Shuichi soon arrived to separate Miu and Maki before anything could reach a point of no return. Naturally, I also involved myself and talked Miu down before she had done something regrettable. Once tensions had been alleviated (somewhat), it was decided that Maki should not spend time with either Miu or Kaede until a more peaceable resolution can be achieved when emotions are not running high. Kaede informed us that she would be in “the one place that belongs to her” (something that I am yet to objectively discern, although Ockham’s Razor dictates it would be her Talent Lab), Miu attempted to attach herself to that decision but was quickly rebuffed by Kaede and instead resigned herself to her room. Only after having laden a number of hastily cobbled together expletives and insults, as Miu is known to do. Maki appeared more than satisfied with these circumstances and also retreated into her own quarters._

_I can only be grateful that Kokichi was not present at the time, otherwise I believe there would have been comments about my Maternal role within our household, and also about how I had essentially “grounded” the pair of Miu and Maki for nearly coming to blows. As Kokichi had once put it, I had “Put the Hammer down, WHAM!” in no uncertain terms._

_My own views on the exchange are rather meaningless but…I suppose a Diary is a location for thoughts and feelings, so I suppose I shall- for however briefly- comment upon them here. Maki’s statement was unnecessary. In fact, I would go so far as to say they were unjustifiably phrased. Kaede has done many favours for Maki when asked, and when not out of goodwill and duty, as class representative. Her duties alone, much like my own, go ignored and unappreciated (I however do not mind this, as a Maid is to serve, and praise should not be offered for simply completing one’s obligations). All the same, whether it be discussing the possibilities of extensions and refurbishments of Talent Labs and Dormitories with Academy faculty, informing classmates of their responsibilities for the day ahead, designing and creating a rotor for household chores (at first I was insulted at the notion Kaede would do this without my consent, but I was later informed that I may still carry out the same tasks, the person joining me would simply be there to aid me) or organising meetings and their itineraries so we may discuss issues or weekly events as a group, Kaede puts in a great deal of effort to help us. I believe Maki allowed herself to speak too freely and allowed her emotions to get the better of her. Her words clearly cut too deep and she got carried away._

_Nevertheless, I believe she may have been on point. Kaede should know better than the pester somebody who clearly has no intent of humouring her. Whether or not Kaede is so desperate for friendship she allows people to walk all over her for it, I cannot say, but her excuse of “just trying” to be nice falls upon deaf ears when she fails to notice the obvious signs that Maki was not interested. Her obliviousness can be forgiven to an extent, but when it verges on the edge of arrogance it can be quite the destructive, not constructive, force. If a leader is shown to be biased, corrupt, foolish or incompetent it brings the whole group into disrepute. Kaede would do well to learn of the great (and awful) political leaders of the past to see where she may learn to better alleviate potential pitfalls and handle different situations with more…tact, shall we say?_

_If I were to take the high road, I believe the two of them should apologise, for being both insensitive and oblivious, respectively._

_I managed to return to my duties, although I will be brutally honest and admit that I was quite distracted during them. A Maid does not let such trivialities impact her performance however, and as such I still maintained my own standards. But I did worry myself as time pressed on about the wellbeing of our own Class Representative. Maki appears (at least on the surface, and you know what they say about still waters and their depths…) to be bulletproof. She would not be phased by a mere confrontation such as that or at the very least she would never show it. Miu herself may be easily intimidated, but she also would easily shrug of something as commonplace as that too. The same cannot be said for Kaede. She finds it easy to connect with others, her own bright personality tends to be quite magnetic. I find it quite odd from the anecdotes she has shared that friends were actually hard to come by in her previous schools. Perhaps one can boil this down to jealousy or intimidation of her skills with the Piano, but I am not well-equipped enough to make a judgment such as that. That being said, she does seem to value the idea of friends and those she wishes to transition into that category to a suicidal level. She is a bright spark that I personally value very highly, I believe we all in some way we appreciate her leadership and forward-thinking attitude._

_Ah, I believe I may have trodden the same ground as earlier with my praise of her. No matter. The point still stands that Kaede is a strong character with equal levels of motivation to accomplish whatever she sets her mind to. But there is a…fragility and simple-mindedness that struggles to reconcile with a nuanced world where people might not always be kind, or patient, or willing to accept her positivity/attitude when approaching it. As her friend, I do find myself partially guilty for not explaining this to her. Although I imagine it would only embolden her to try harder, and that is a comfort all on its own. Kaede is blunt but not in such a way that leads her to being combative and brutal. She says how she feels, whereas Maki hides behind indifference and distances herself from people. I had assumed this may happen sooner or later, where their personalities may clash, and Kaede would come out the worse-for-wear._

_Hmm…I may retract that statement. I do not know Maki well enough to comment on if she truly was affected by her own handling of the situation or not. Even if she had no intention of indulging Kaede, she did not turn on her immediately. I have worked for people like Maki before, and they require a delicate touch to coax them out of their shell._

_~~Which only baffles me more when Kaito was able to achieve that with his own belligerent attitude~~_

_Kaede had not returned for several hours after that, and I found Miu pacing by herself outside of her room, mumbling something rude, I am certain. Apparently Kaede was not returning calls or texts, and it had her quite on edge. I suggested that I go and look for her, but Miu insinuated she already knew where Kaede was located. Strange, I find it, to be so worked up about a missing person whose location was…known? Even now I am bewildered by the girl. Miu does not speak plainly, and when she does, it tends to be offensive to the ears. It is not that I do not see a fundamentally good person at the core of Iruma Miu, but equally I find so many contradicting strains that I cannot settle on what to think of her. Kaede seems to have found something that has made her happy, so I will not think ill of her._

_Miu then drew the attention of Kokichi and Rantaro, who was in the midst of being yelled at himself by our own resident Cosplayer and decided to join Miu in her expedition to retrieve Kaede. As of now, Kokichi and Rantaro have returned home and informed me that Kaede is safe and sound with Miu. A weight off my chest, I suppose, although neither has yet to return home. If they are not back by the morning, I will consider informing the school as the last thing we want is for them to be in any danger due to my own negligence._

_Ah, I believe I will have to cut this entry short. It would appear as if Kokichi is requesting a 2AM Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich and has also stolen Shuichi’s hat, who has been chasing him for 5 minutes. I also believe he may have broken the light fixture using one of Miu’s experimental contraptions that I will no doubt have to fix and quarantine, though he denies his involvement vociferously and is laying the blame on Keebo, who does himself no favours with his insistence of Kokichi’s antics being “the results of lies and robophobia”_

_Lord knows what he found this time._

_~~I do have a favour from Fuyuhiko, if I killed Kokichi I am sure he could hide the body well with his connections~~ _

_~~The Japanese Liberal Democratic Party still owe me for my services too~~ _

_~~I shouldn’t fantasise about things like that~~ _

_~~~~_

_~~~~_

_~~The catharsis, however…~~ _

_~~I am sure this is just the stress getting to me…~~ _

_~~Are those…am I hearing firecrackers?~~ _

_~~I do not know to be angrier at Miu or Kokichi in this moment.~~ _

_~~When was the last time I had a day off?~~ _

_~~I should ask Kaede if she may alter the rotor schedule so I may have some much-needed recovery time.~~ _

_Selfishness is unbecoming. It is as Mother says, “self-sacrifice is the essence of service.”_

_~~I hate Mother~~ _

_Goodness, wherever did that come from? Now I feel bad._

_This is what happens when I shirk my duties for too long. An Idle mind is a dangerous weapon. I should deal with Kokichi. Again. Once more. One of many. A drop in the ocean. But not violently!_

~~_Perhaps I should not judge Kaede or Maki’s indiscretions_ ~~

_Such is the burden of my selfless devotion._

_-Toujo Kirumi._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> This has been my first attempt at First-Person prose in a number of years, and my first foray into a "Diary Entry" style prose ever. It was quite enjoyable, and something I will implement more in the future to bridge time-skips especially since there won't always be time and space to focus on particular characters. Maybe I might include some post-story diary entries from some of the cast, or Kirumi reflecting on others once the main story is wrapped up. Who knows what is possible?
> 
> There's also some characterisation for Kirumi. She's still her typically devoted, diligent self, but keep in mind the Japanese school year begins in April (so, she's about six months into her first year in HPA at this stage) meaning she's been serving the 79th class for long enough for stress to begin to build. Naturally she feels it hard to communicate her innermost thoughts, so she can only convey that through her diary. Although she struggles to do even that, hence the crossings out at anything she could deem "disrespectful". Some little things bleed out about her past, like her dislike for her Mother. That will likely be expanded upon, if I opt to give Kirumi some viewpoint chapters or romantic interest. Again, who knows what is possible? That's more likely to come in the sequel, since that will more heavily focus and feature on the v3 cast almost exclusively. 
> 
> We also get to see why Kaede reacted the way she did. She was honestly trying to befriend Maki, but went about it the wrong way and for so long she got bit for it. Maki did cede the moral highground though, acting the way that she did. Miu is a good girlfriend, fighting (trying to, anyway) for Kaede's honour, even if Kaede is still in the wrong.
> 
> Next time: Sayaka and Mukuro are good friends with an unresolved, unspoken conflict.


	5. Scars That Can't Be Seen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sayaka is practicing for her Group's new song, when Mukuro appears for some casual conversation.
> 
> Neither of them are good at choosing their words.

**_Calendar 1, September 29th..._ **

Days like these were when Sayaka was truly in her element. All alone, an audience of none, a sea of padded metal folding chairs lined up like legionaries in supplication to the sharp turns of her hip, coquettish winks and regimented choreography that left her muscles screaming with built up lactic acid. 

Dressed in crude grey sweatpants torn at the knee and a baggy white shirt as well as white trainers, Sayaka practiced her latest routine, pushing her body to its absolute limit.

If the recruits in a boot camp thought they knew true hell, they didn’t know the daily life of a pop sensation like Maizono Sayaka. By no means did Sayaka have any delusions of grandeur. Idol life was anything but the glitz and glamour everybody assumed it was. Far and away from the bright fluorescent lights, the exquisite tailoring of the garish impractical uniforms, skirts so high they may as well be a cone, the erotic and the obscene masquerading as the innocent and virginial by virtue of the girls wearing it and the vivid pigment that distracted onlookers whose interest in the true wellbeing of their entertainers was wallet-deep. 

Idols had a shelf life. It was very much a quick, controlled burn that fizzled out. Nobody remembered yesterday’s Idol, because by time they hit the ripe old age of twenty-one, a new fifteen-year-old upstart was suddenly everybody’s flavour of the month. The _“old”_ typically faded into obscurity. If they were smart, they had a nice stock portfolio or landed themselves a choreography position. Some transitioned pretty quickly into agency for newer talents or managerial roles looking to cultivate the next generation. And for the unlucky few, the backdrop girls, the ones who were pretty (they all were) but not pretty enough to headline or do the interviews or have solo merch printed especially for them, the ones who had nowhere else to go, ultimately found themselves in seedy, poorly lit and questionably produced AV shoots for chump change.

That’s to say, of course, that they don’t fall into substance abuse or selling themselves in entirely more macabre ways.

Don’t be surprised if you see a former idol with a scar where their kidney used to be. Or they were suffering from withdrawal because the opioids were the easiest way to disconnect with the world and cope with the depression. Something that was par for the course, practically in the job description.

 _‘Sign up, dance and sing and have legions of fans that will forget about you five minutes after retirement and a lifetime of regrets from how management lied about taking care of you.’_

A soldier came back with a pension and free credit, tax breaks, and all that trauma. An idol only ever got the trauma. Maybe a hearty handshake before they were booted out the door. 

But Sayaka was the best. 

The best of the best. Sayaka was big enough to go solo. Sayaka always had the option of becoming an internationally renowned star by her own right, signed to producer deals in LA, London, Paris, wherever she chose. But Sayaka liked her roots. Above all else, Sayaka loved her group members. They were her friends. They had supported her when she was down, motivated her to push beyond the glass ceiling that stood between _“Just”_ an Idol and true recognition. Sayaka didn’t care if 99% of all their collective income was derived from her alone. So what? They were the reason she had made it this far. She would never forget that. Never forget their contribution. Her name and face may have been centre stage, forged through her blood, sweat and tears, but they were the foundations on which it had all been built. Sayaka was strong because of them. So, she turned down the big money deals. Ignored the movie cameos she could do in Hollywood. Refused to go on all those Late-Night American talk shows unless _all_ of them were booked together. It wouldn’t be fair otherwise. They _all_ had to do those same _questionable_ acts that woke a different one up each night, a cold sweat clinging to their body, regret staining their face as they sobbed and wept those putrid memories away, their acrid smell still tinging their maiden hearts. Stained in a way that nobody would ever see.

A mark against their soul, forever.

But they had earned it. They had earned this success. Maybe it would result in sleepless nights for the rest of their lives. But what was more preferable, a lifetime of Demons but exonerated as human icons, or clean, boring obscurity? Sayaka always wanted to be an idol, so there wasn’t really a choice to make. And the choice had already been made long ago now. So the question was moot. This is what Sayaka was. A pretty face, a Goddess on the stage, black soul with feather-white purity thrown on top to give the people what they wanted. A lie. But a reassuring lie.

Who could complain?

This entire arena was built on Hope’s Peak Academy’s grounds. It could comfortably fit just around 10,000 sitting spectators. It wasn’t the biggest location Sayaka had performed in, not by a long stretch, the Tokyo Dome easily dwarfed it. But it was filled with state-of-the-art changing rooms, relaxation and exercise equipment, audio-visual displays and provided that sense of environment that best replicated the feeling of performing to a crowd. The acoustics made even _Akamatsu Kaede_ jealous. 

Sayaka was on a raised platform with a domed roof overhead. The stage was framed with stage rigging (stage lighting hanging all over them for _even more_ blinding lighting, as if there wasn’t enough), running across and above the glittering LED flooring that spat and hovered Chibi themed caricatures of Sayaka and her Idol members from end to end, peak to trough. Pillars ran up and down the flanks of the building with overhangs shadowing the doors that lined them. Adjacent to her was a curved glass pane which the morning light shot through. Sayaka could close the shutters over them with a flick of a switch, but she liked the distraction. It challenged her more, made her rely more on muscle memory, instinct and coordination when you had the sun burning away two-thirds of your vision. 

Sayaka was at the end of her routine now. Sweat clung to her, every fibre of her body burned, but the adrenaline was such a rush and the _vindication_ that all of her training and persistence provided her made even a practice run in front of an empty arena, soulless and with none of the energy the crowd provided, feel like she was elevated to the stars themselves, Queen of them all. 

She hit the final pose, craned back on one leg like a crescent moon brought down for mortals, spotlight on her, pounding and violent multi-colours in a backdrop of LED screens as the music swelled to a still and then dropped, and she dropped to splayed thighs, head thrown back and arms crossed over her chest. She held in the animalistic pants primed to tear through her, maintaining the image of the cute, beautiful, and desirable idol even if it meant drowning herself in her own breath. An Idol suffered for her art, didn’t matter if it was only practice. 

The music finally ebbed away, and Sayaka could finally drink in her success. She grinned, shuddering out frenzied breaths blended with the lightest of mirth’s. When the adrenaline would begin to recede, laughter was all Sayaka was left with at times. Like all that stress was for nothing, all the effort seemed silly and unnecessary, but the elation and amusement of it all bubbled to her lips, and she couldn’t help herself. 

A slow, methodical clap cut through the silence Sayaka had been left with and she scrambled onto her knees, eyes darting over to the source of the clap. It wasn’t slow enough to be sarcastic, but it lacked the same fervent speed she was used to when praised. Upon seeing who it was, leaning off to the side under one of the overhangs on her righthand side, was Ikusaba Mukuro. A tight, but firm, smile rested on her lips.

As it were, it had been an audience of one. Somewhat embarrassing, for reasons Sayaka couldn’t explain, but it didn’t matter. She was happy to see Mukuro. 

“Mukuro!” She called out, grabbing a towel, and throwing it around her neck before sliding off the stage into a crouch. She stood back to her height and jogged over to the short-haired girl and joined her under the shade of the overhang, leaning against the smooth granite wall, wiping at her sweaty features. She hoped she didn’t smell to offensively as it had been a taxing run through of _“Starlight Blitz”_ one of her troupe’s newest songs. “What’s up?” 

“Nothing much.” Mukuro answered plainly, playing with one of the lapels of her school jacket. “Had some time to myself and I heard the music from outside. Wondered if it was you or not.”

“Wow, don’t you know my group’s music well enough to tell on _instinct?_ ” Sayaka teased, flaunting Mukuro her perfect white teeth.

“Are you suggesting I don’t know my _Maizono Sayaka_ trivia?” Mukuro responded playfully. 

“Hmm, I dunno, Mukuro. Maybe I should test you.” Sayaka tapped her chin, swaying on her heels as if to think of a question. “First album: Go!”

“’Summer Bliss, Autumn Kiss’. Funnily enough, there was a special edition album that never officially released with a cover of you all dressed in swimsuits, but the producers thought it might portray you in an _unwholesome_ light and give people the wrong idea. So, they retroactively discontinued it and went with the original concept idea instead.” 

“Okay, okay. Impressive.” Sayaka admitted with a dip of her head. “What was…my debut show?” 

“Hmm, depends if we’re counting any of the pageant shows you did growing up.” Mukuro mused. 

“For this question, we will not.” Sayaka clarified with a chipper tone, swiping a finger through the air to punctuate her point. 

The less Sayaka had to think of _those_ , the better. Not because they were traumatising- well, certainly not any more traumatising than any other childhood memory you could pluck from the strands of mildly repressed memory that always surfaced when you least wanted them to, causing Sayaka to groan and shout into a pillow about how embarrassing it all was. Being paraded about in a tutu and a tiara and telling a panel of old men about how she wanted to be _“Princess Of the Idols”_ was not something Sayaka wanted to think about right now. Especially not in front of Mukuro. At the very least she could play off the burning fluster as a consequence of her work-out. 

Mukuro would probably see through it if she did. Mukuro was sharp like that, in a way Sayaka could only dream of being. Meticulous, analytic, an excellent _Bullshit detector_ made woman. 

Not as bad as Kyouko though. Or Kokichi. But still. Better than Sayaka, at the least.

“In that case, it would be at Sixth Black Root Middle School when you did your first collective performance piece for your school festival. If I remember correctly, I _believe_ that’s where talent agents earmarked you as somebody to keep their eyes on.”

“Ahahahaha,” Sayaka laughed at the fond memory. “Oh, that takes me back…” Sayaka slumped against the wall, huffing out a tired breath, rubbing her eyes with the base of her hand. “God, that feels like a lifetime ago. Back at Black Root with all the girls…life seemed a lot simpler.” 

“Yeah? What about it?” Mukuro inquired. 

“Lots of little things. But the big things too. Contracts, agents, corporate espionage…” Sayaka raised a finger per point, rattling them off.

“Wait, _what_?”

“What, wait what?” Sayaka repeated.

“Corporate espionage?” Mukuro clarified with a roll of her eyes.

“Oh, that’s nothing. I mean, it was a lot of stress at the time, don’t get me wrong!” Sayaka chuckled light-heartedly. “Like, me and the girls were ready to sign a contract with one talent agency, and then another broke a new deal at the last minute and it was…oh my god, apples and oranges, Mukuro! They were gonna treat us so much better. But the old guys didn’t like getting cheated out of a deal at the last second. Well, I guess that’s sorta how a bidding war is meant to go, but I guess they felt they had everything in place _apart_ from the signature and we were going back on our word. Either way, you know a lot of pop groups and idols don’t _actually_ write our own music, right?” 

“Yeah, of course. Somebody produces the music and lyrics, you perform them.” Mukuro said with an indifferent shrug. 

“Well, here’s the thing, that stuff is mass-produced, but it’s still intellectual property. A lot of the stuff they come up with is trashy and slapped-together at the last minute. But people gobble it up if the idol group are good at singing and dancing! You take it away though, and the Idols are all sorts of screwed. They tried to leak our music early, steal the stuff and produce it themselves before it had been officially licenced so they could steal the profits. It actually became a big legal case and we didn’t have a new song to work on for…I think it was like, three months, because they couldn’t take the chance of having something else be released or stolen until the court case was resolved.” Sayaka explained.

“Huh, I didn’t know about that part. I knew you went a little longer without releasing an album at some point, but I had always assumed it was to do with touring.” Mukuro said.

“Yep! That was the official excuse, anyway. The case was kept on the hush-hush, people didn’t want it becoming a big scandal, so they ultimately settled out of court. But to make sure suspicions weren’t raised too high, they sent us all around Japan to perform our old stuff. Well, luckily enough they had yours truly performing, so even the old stuff still drew a crowd.” Sayaka flicked her hair with no sense of humility; eyes closed and a proud smirk playing on her lips. Sayaka looked to Mukuro, lip wobbling in confusion. “Hey, not that I don’t mind your company, but why aren’t you with your sister?” It was a reasonable question, or so Sayaka thought, Mukuro and Junko were practically inseparable. Always had been since she had known the twins. Sayaka had always assumed it was because the pair of them were just that close. Sayaka was one of the most popular girls in school, and much like Junko she flaunted that knowledge. But Sayaka had an air of approachability to herself, as reflected in the company she kept. Naegi Makoto, Kirigiri Kyouko, Asahina Aoi and Ogami Sakura were not the faces or names most people would have thought would be who Maizono Sayaka chose, willingly, to spend her time with. But Makoto had always been her best friend and his friends were her friends. And he was a good judge of character, so she trusted the people he liked would be good friends of hers too. As a matter of fact, that had been more than correct. Regardless, Junko and Sayaka crossed paths and were the talk of the town most days: _“Who’s prettier, Sayaka or Junko?”, “Who would be the better dance at the prom, Junko or Sayaka?”, “Do you think Sayaka is really that nice? I heard Junko can be really sweet when she’s not pulling a prank.”_ Sayaka had a fairly good grasp on who Junko was due to their proximity not just in class, but position on the popularity totem pole. Junko was, much to her own chagrin admitting this, reliant on her sister. Mukuro was dependable. Capable. An intimidating force if you pulled it out of her. And fiercely loyal too. She did everything her sister asked, and usually without even a snippet of a complaint to be heard. Junko leaned heavily on her sister, and Mukuro was happy to provide that support. Sayaka didn’t really get it, what siblings she did know of (with the exception of Makoto and his younger sister, Komaru, who seemed infatuated with him) were usually disagreeable with one-another. But Junko and Mukuro seemed more than happy to have their asymmetrical relationship where the burden of support fell on one, and neither complained one iota. 

“J-Junko…oh umm…she’s…” Mukuro searched for the word, tapping her foot on the floor. “On a date.” 

Sayaka was nearly floored by that. Her towel from her neck slipped off and she lunged at Mukuro, fingers coiling in the side of her shirt.

“ _ **Oh. Em. Gee.**_ Spill! Tell me! Give me the deets!” Sayaka was bouncing on her feet and for whatever reason, a reason Sayaka didn’t stop to think of, was blushing at their immediacy. 

“You can’t tell anyone!” Mukuro turned away, hiding the fluster on her face, but Sayaka didn’t care at all because this was _huge_ news. Junko hadn’t dated anyone since arriving. Sure, there were stories of things _happening_ behind the bike sheds or the changing rooms, but how much of that was bluster and bravado and how much of it was verifiable fact could never be known. This was from the most trusted source and Sayaka had, no, for the _sake_ of the human species she _needed_ to know. 

“Yes! Yes! C’mon, Mukuro, don’t leave me hanging! I promise I will never tell another soul so long as I live! I swear on my career as an idol!”

“Seriously!” Mukuro insisted just how serious it was, turning to face Sayaka, grabbing her by the shoulders and holding her in place. Sayaka only just noticed now that Mukuro was bright red. Her hands trembled on her delicate shoulders; her hands surprisingly strong for a girl’s. Sayaka fixated on it for a moment, excitement replaced with curiosity as her lips hung open. Mukuro was finding it hard to make eye contact. “You can’t tell a soul. If Junko finds out…she’d kill me! Or worse, she’d hate me!”

“Of course, I swear it. But Mukuro, why is it so important I don’t tell anyone? If they’re dating Junko, it’s bound to get out eventually.” Sayaka asked, a concerned tip of her head at how Mukuro now couldn’t meet her gaze. She thought about asking, but this seemed important to Mukuro for some reason. They were friends, so Sayaka would respect it.

“Because…the girl Junko’s…uh… _dating_ , is really sensitive and Junko doesn’t want her to be exposed to anything she doesn’t have to be. It’s not even official yet…” Mukuro explained, but Sayaka’s worry for her friend dissolved and she shot forwards, noses barely an inch apart.

“A _girl?!_ Enoshima Junko is dating a _girl?!_ ” The surprise flowed from Sayaka’s mouth, her expression wide-eyed and stunned to disbelief. 

“Y-Yes?” Mukuro’s eyes flittered left and right. “Is that a…bad thing?” She asked and Sayaka immediately whipped her head either which way. 

“No! I’m just so…so shocked! I never took Junko for the type!” 

“…There’s a type?” Mukuro asked, amusement flickering back briefly, and Sayaka thought the thin smile and arched brow along with her blush made her look…cute. Cuter than usual, anyway.

“Well, uh, I guess? I think? I don’t really know because, you know, romance isn’t for an idol!” Sayaka gestured dramatically, after having taken a step back- something Mukuro appeared relieved at, exhaling loudly- with a point at Mukuro, whose smile faded instantly. 

“Right. Idols don’t participate in adolescent romances…” Mukuro’s voice was decidedly less full of life now, but Sayaka- either due to her pig-headedness or her ignorance- didn’t seem to notice.

“Correct! As an Idol I do not have time to devote myself and my Maiden Heart to love! An idol belongs to the world!” Sayaka exclaimed, pumping a fist. “With…with that being said…I suppose I know nothing about girl’s love. But, if it’s good enough for Enoshima Junko then it’s good enough for Maizono Sayaka!” The idol roared enthusiastically. “Right!” Sayaka clapped her hands together. “So, who is it? I’m dying to know, Mukuro!”

Mukuro rubbed at the back of her neck and sighed. “You swear you’re not going to tell anyone? Not even Junko?”

“Promise!”

“…Pinkie promise?” Mukuro smirked, holding up her pink to Sayaka, who reciprocated without having to think twice about it. It was a rather childish gesture, it had no particular weight or certainty behind it that words couldn’t achieve by themselves, but Mukuro appeared to appreciate the sentiment. Her smile grew, and Sayaka felt…warm. Maybe it was just the performer in her that loved to make others smile, but this felt strangely different. In a way she couldn’t put her finger on.

“You have my word!” Sayaka pledged. 

“It’s…Tsumiki Mikan.” Mukuro finally admitted, pulling her fingers through her neck-length black hair, absent-mindedly. 

“Tsumiki? The Nurse?” Sayaka asked for clarification, head tilted curiously, her boundless energy pausing momentarily. 

“The very same, yeah.” Mukuro nodded. “Junko was…smitten, the first time she saw her. Even lied to her as an excuse to spend more time together and work up the courage to ask her out.” 

“I…umm, can’t say I know her well?” Sayaka rested her cheek on a fist, looking away in thought, shifting her weight. “I’ve been to the Nurse’s Office a few times with anaemia and cramps once or twice, but she was pretty quick and quiet about it. Kinda timid, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Mukuro agreed. “Junko got her talking a bit. Seems a pretty insightful girl. Must be smart to be a Nurse. But I’m in the same boat as you. She’s not somebody I know well given she’s from our senior class.”

“Wow…I didn’t expect that. Maybe I could have seen Sonia? Or Celeste? Mikan is…a wildcard pick, that’s for sure!” Sayaka quickly became starry-eyed, swaying from heel to toe. “This is huge though! I have to tell everyone…!” Sayaka began, but Mukuro stopped her dead, scolding her with narrowed eyes and a cutting glare making the idol feel exceedingly small, crossing her arms over her chest. Sayaka’s face paled, sweat beading down. “… _Nothing!_ I have to tell everyone _nothing!_ ” Sayaka rectified with a nervous laugh, Mukuro simply rolled her eyes and went back to leaning against the wall. “What about yourself?”

“Huh?” Mukuro looked at Sayaka as if she had grown a second head. 

“Oh _come on_ , Mukuro. There’s gotta be _someone_ you have your eyes on, no?” Sayaka had a mischievous glint to her eyes that Mukuro struggled to maintain contact with, trying to find interest and distraction in whatever she could. But she was always pulled back to the girl’s gravity, smile wide and Cheshire. 

"Why...are you so interested?" Mukuro asked, cautiously.

"Because you're my _friend_ and I know all my friends most intimate love-life details, apart from you, and you just offered me up a huge secret about your sister, so now is as good a time as any to ask since you wanna share so bad! I wanna know who or what Ikusaba Mukuro is in to! So c'mon! Is there somebody?!" 

“There…might be.” Mukuro dipped her head to the side, shrugging her shoulders. “Yeah…guess there is.” Her smile set in deeper, eyes distant, lost in her own thoughts, and Sayaka wondered what brought that about. Mukuro seemed enamoured with the thought itself, pulled out of reality and trapped in her own reverie. No, trapped was probably the wrong word for it. Mukuro seemed at peace with her own thoughts. 

“Are you going to tell me?!” Sayaka practically bounced.

“Absolutely not.” Mukuro flushed, eyes narrowed and glancing to the side, however absent of any threat or danger like she could normally muster.

“Awww, boring.” Sayaka pouted, jabbing her finger into Mukuro’s arm. 

“You know me. Boring old Mukuro…” The taller girl grumbled scornfully, preoccupied with her invasive thoughts again, sight caught in the middle-distance.

“Want my advice?” Sayaka asked, and Mukuro returned to reality to regard her unevenly. 

“Uhh…on…what?” Mukuro asked, tepidly. Like she was walking on ice.

“Your crush, duh.” Sayaka rolled her eyes, squeezing Mukuro’s bicep. “You’re a catch. You’re pretty, but you’re also kinda handsome too, and you’re really nice.”

Mukuro looked to Sayaka, astonished. “You…think I’m pretty…?” Mukuro was blushing, and Sayaka thought she looked adorable. It was funny how Mukuro could go from stern and demanding, powerful in figure and personality without uttering a word into a nervous girl with a complex about her looks. It was a little annoying too. Sayaka couldn’t quite figure out the source of why Mukuro had been jumping back and forth like this around her. It was like having a dance partner who kept changing styles and didn’t quite notice how difficult it was making this for Sayaka. She didn’t know if she should ask Mukuro if there was something wrong, or if she was making her uncomfortable somehow.

_‘Seriously, girl, decide if you’re cute and timid or handsome and cool!’_

“Course I do! Who wouldn’t?” Sayaka said it like it was obvious, no hint of a lie. “Whoever your crush is, just go for it!”

“Just…go for it…?” The words came out haphazardly from Mukuro’s mouth and something akin to fear hid behind them at the edges of her teeth. 

“Sure! What have you got to lose by trying?” Sayaka brought her fist down onto an open palm in front of herself. “Oh! Let me live vicariously through you when you do it, please! I want to experience a high school romance even if it’s only second-hand…” Sayaka said, dreamily, like the chance had already passed her by, as if she was some old spinster. She did value her position as an Idol seriously. She had to respect her contract, after all. She worked too hard to throw it away fleetingly. Romance could fizzle and die quickly. But her contract was a guarantee. 

“Nothing to lose, huh…” Mukuro ran her tongue against her bottom lip, contemplatively. She turned her head to Sayaka, eyes roaming before they landed on Sayaka’s own, and she smiled rather…wistfully? But also, with a touch of demure amusement. Like she was the only one in on her own joke. Just what the hell was that about? “Sure, Sayaka. When I confess, I’ll let you be there.”

“Great!” Sayaka pumped her fists. “I’ll be rooting for you Mukuro!”

“I appreciate the support.” Mukuro wrung her hands. “So, I was thinking…want to go out?”

Sayaka’s heart stopped. She had to replay that sentence at least four times over in her own head. Surely Mukuro didn’t…no, that would be silly. Beyond silly. For a number of reasons. There was no way. But even so. That hadn’t stopped Sayaka fixating on the possibility. That was the part giving her the most trouble. The image in her head…hurt. Hurt? It shouldn’t hurt. It should have been fleeting fascination-

“Sayaka. Sayaka.” Mukuro’s voice grew louder, and she waved her hand in front of Sayaka’s face.

“Huh? W-What?” Sayaka asked, tilting her head.

“I said if you wanted to go out. You know, catch up with Makoto and Kyouko and get sushi? I meant to ask you earlier, but you were kind of _in the zone_.” Mukuro chuckled. She hadn’t noticed. Well, not true, she had noticed that Sayaka was staring into space gormlessly. Which was embarrassing itself. But not the reason why. It had just been a misunderstanding anyway, so it didn’t matter. Sayaka was worked up over nothing. 

“Oh! Right. Sorry, I zoned out. The adrenaline, you know?” Sayaka lied. “Yeah, that sounds great. Um…I have to shower and get changed.” She gestured to the changing room next to them, eager to get away from the situation. “Mind giving me ten minutes? I’ll be quick.” She assured, and Mukuro waved her off. 

Mukuro leaned back with a tired, ragged breath finally escaping her chest, hand resting atop her heart that hammered against her ribcage so much it hurt. She felt like she had just aged a whole decade from that conversation. And the _look_ Sayaka gave her at the end… 

You’d have to forgive Mukuro for thinking Sayaka looked scared. Caught off-guard. Like the whole sky was caving in. 

Yeah, sure, her phrasing could have been better _especially_ given what they had been talking about, but there wasn’t any ulterior motive behind it. Still, that look had been suspect, hadn’t it? Sayaka totally zoned out. That couldn’t have just been a coincidence, surely?

No, Mukuro was just kidding herself. Sayaka could be airheaded. Not as bad as _other musically inclined_ people she knew, but to think it was anything more than that was just naïve optimism that Mukuro wasn’t known for would be madness. 

Mukuro slipped down the wall until she was sat against it, drawing her knees to her chest and pressing her face into them to hide her visage from the world like a scared child.

“I owe Junko an apology. We’re _both_ Gay Disasters…The Gay Disaster Twins of Hope's Peak Academy...”

Sayaka touched the heat in her face as the water splashed over her naked form. It still hadn’t left, and Mukuro’s words lingered in her own head. No way. _No way_ those words had the insinuation she was…hoping for? Yes, hope.

What a strange notion. To hope Mukuro had meant it a way she _plainly_ hadn’t intended. Sayaka was just in matchmaker mode, trapped in the storm of romance and had been caught on the back foot was all. It hadn’t meant anything; she was just thinking irrationally about it. She was tired, dehydrated, of course she was going to take it the wrong way. An Idol didn’t make time for dating. A little crush like she had for Makoto in Middle School? Sayaka was human, of course, she couldn’t fault her natural curiosity. But that was it. It was a fleeting, inconsequential sensation that never left her without full control of her faculties. But this was different, it was intense, and she couldn’t control when or if or how vibrantly it would attack her.

The thing that _stung_ though was her disappointment. She was disappointed and she couldn’t understand why. Like she was working with half the pieces of a jigsaw. Stuck with a riddle in a different language. Sayaka wasn’t equipped to decode something like this. It was just transient, she kept telling herself that. Maybe she couldn’t figure out why she felt disappointed, but it would pass. It always passed.

It had to. If Sayaka felt like this, this churning, debilitating weight pulling at the corners of her mind, from shoulder to toe and at the back of her throat, robbing her of breath and turning all taste to bitter, how could she devote herself to her exercises? How could she give her all to the one thing that she had wanted more than anything since she first saw it televised in her infancy? It had to pass. And if it didn’t pass by itself, Sayaka would make it pass.

It _had_ to pass, because _this_ wasn’t healthy.

Sayaka slumped against the wall of her shower until she sat against it, water trickling through her long azure locks and scolding her skin a faint red. She wrapped her hand around the index and middle finger of her other and squeezed tight for a sense of feeling. She buried her head into her knees, and she was thankful the jet of the shower and the moisture of the water hid her tears.

“What’s wrong with me…?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> So there we go, all three main couples have had their debut chapters, although not all have had their viewpoint chapters yet. We still have to hear from Kaede (3 chapters from now), Junko (next chapter) and Mukuro (god knows when, Mukuro will take time to set up, she had the most dramatic of arcs and I don't want to portray PTSD and things affiliated with it without care or consideration. Gotta do my research). 
> 
> Whilst all our characters suffer from something during the course of their development, Mukuro and Sayaka will have the worst of it. I put those tags in there for a reason. Obviously we know in the Meta sense since the game's been out over a decade now what Mukuro's talent is. But for the sake of the fic (like Maki) I won't be referring to it directly in anything bar viewpoint chapters. So it's an unknown to everyone that isn't Mukuro or Junko. However, Sayaka also has her issues. We know from the games she had to do seedy, questionable things to get to where she is. And honestly the Idol industry is horrible from first-hand accounts (there are some great journalistic pieces into the Idol industry, worth a read/watch if you want to hate humanity) I have heard. As such I thought it only fair to give Sayaka equal amounts of trauma. It works well because Mukuro's is sort of heavy-handed, in your face, whereas Sayaka's is almost unnoticeable. It's subtle, beneath the surface, colouring her perspective unhealthily. It's perfect for unintentionally putting them at odds and even making Sayaka say things that she can't know will do as much damage as they are doing. Combine that with the rigorous demands of being an idol and it almost looks like it's impossible for the two of them to be together.
> 
> Don't worry, they will. But it's going to be a hell of a long time before you get handholding between those two. Sorry gang, for you IkuZono shippers, you'll be waiting a while. It will be worth it, I assure you.
> 
> Next time: Junko is on her way for her confrontation with Mikan, when a real life GAMER GRILL decides to offer some sagely advice.


	6. 1 Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ultimate Fashionista and The Ultimate Gamer have a much needed catch-up before Junko meets up with Mikan.

**_Calendar 1, September 29th…_ **

The day had finally arrived. It had been the longest three days of Junko’s life, and to be honest that said something about her and where her headspace was at. Nerves weren’t something she generally had to cope with on a paralysing level. She was a Master of the stage; she owned every room she walked into and she _knew_ it. She could have been mistaken for royalty with the way people threw themselves at her feet to avoid her shoes being sullied by murky puddles or a piece of gum along a path. No matter how much glitz and glamour she had to contend with, the size of the audience, the difficulty of the question posed to her by the interviewer, she dispatched her answer with eloquence and a charisma like a catchy tune you’d be humming well into your retirement days. 

Nobody forgot Enoshima Junko. She could make devote priests abandon their faith, turn zealots into wayward souls, have extremists renounce their allegiances and ensnare the young and impressionable to whatever fashion _“trend”_ happened to be the new popular sensation. The Virgin Killer jumper was definitely her favourite craze to date. Oh, it was a silly thing and the thought of all those millions of eyes and the accompanying words of _“Scandalous!”_ , _“Brazen!”_ , _“Lecherous!”_ satiated a darker urge within her. Enoshima Junko was more dangerous to any way of life than any propaganda, any _Active Measures_ , any scripture, or manifesto.

If Junko said a thing it became sacrosanct. If Junko acted a way people mirrored it. Her walk, her talk, her make up; they all became toys for the world to reach an ideal goal that shifted with the mood. 

And Junko hated every little bit of it. 

Something Mikan had said upon their chance meeting got to her. It had not left her head for a moment, a constant buzz like a gnat that she couldn’t quite _swat_. Mikan spoke of talent, its worth, and how it was used to better the world and that mattered more than anything. Your background, the nature and pretence behind your talent had no value. What defined you was how you used it. How you could better the world. That was why they were here, wasn’t it? Hope’s Peak Academy hadn’t been designed as just another posh, snobbish private school. No, it was the best funded, best ran, best administrated Academy in the entire world, not for private gain (although, admittedly, there was plenty of that too) but to cultivate hope. To create an army of young, idealistic, and energetic individuals who could use their skills to advance, revolutionise and enrich the entire world and make it better for both the single and whole. It wasn’t intended to be something to slap on a résumé so one could be given a cushy job for the rest of their lives. Naturally, people would abuse it for that selfish gain. You can’t control human nature. For every Hercules you got a Narcissus, that was just the way of the world and the people who comprised it. Simply being the best of a certain classification didn’t make you a good person. It actually had much the opposite effect, Junko thought. 

And despite the fact it hadn’t been the point of Mikan’s argument, the unspoken self-assessment it made Junko go through brought her to a nasty conclusion: Had she been skating by this entire time? Had she allowed the comfort and ease of being the greatest fashion icon to ever grace a runway with her presence to make her complacent? Had she been reticent in her duties? Had she lost sight of what really mattered, or had life beaten it out of her long ago? How could she, justifiably, relinquish drive and effort into pointing out injustices and privations that the commoner either didn’t know about or couldn’t organise to fix? Junko had the platform to do something good. Who could inform and educate about the things she wanted fixed and improved better than she, herself? She controlled swathes of acolytes who would hang off her every breath. She could bring about genuine change. 

She had once, just for her own amusement, sent out a Tweet telling her loyal followers to meet her in a well-trodden district of Tokyo (where she obviously had no intention of showing up) simply to see how many would turn up. As it so happened, the streets were packed with hundreds of thousands of her most devout followers. All of them wearing some _distinct_ Enoshima-branded paraphernalia. It had become quite the incident, drawing much media attention- most of which was unwarranted- for Hope’s Peak. 

You would have thought after the first thousand or so, people would have realized they weren’t getting so much as whiff of Junko’s perfume or sight of her strawberry blonde pigtails. Apparently not.

Hope’s Peak had informed Junko after that little stunt (Junko had thought it a funny prank at the time, less so now with the existential realization she was suffering from) that she had been _provided_ ( _read: forced, fuck the establishment, Principal Kirigiri deserved the whoopie cushion he got for that slight_ ) a social media manager who curated every single one of her posts and had to approve every last one of them with a rigorous set of criteria. Junko didn’t get to post anything fun now. Didn’t get to start any silly trends like #MakeHajimeDrinkOJUntilHePassesOutAgain or force some silly rumour into public consciousness that was blatantly false, but who would ever dispute Junko? Other than maybe Kyouko, Makoto and maybe Mukuro if what she was saying was particularly asinine. 

Maybe Byakuya too, if he ever found the motivation to rise from his throne of Yen he built just because, _and Junko quotes_ , “I can.”

The entire point of the diatribe within Junko’s own head was that she was just a placeholder. _Enoshima Junko_ didn’t exist. Not to the public anyway. Not in any way that was special. Nobody cared about who Junko was, what defined her within, what her loves were and where her happiness was derived from. Junko was a face. An idea. Pretty features to pick and choose from. She was something for the world to project onto, not draw from. What stopped somebody from taking her style, her hair, her eyes, her fashion and become a new placeholder for the world to falsely worship? The only thing authentically Junko were her thoughts. Everything else was vapid fetishism by the public. 

Everyday Junko woke up feeling like a phantom. An aberration. Of course, it had its benefits. Life was easy. Junko got whatever she wanted, and she barely had to lift a finger. Certainly, she hadn’t earnt it, so that made it good, right? _Right_? Being afforded every pleasure the world had to offer for putting on a new outfit and have some balding unmarried weirdo in their late forty’s snap pictures with an overpriced camera was fulfilling, wasn’t it? Give Junko a smartphone, a filter, and an Instagram account and she could do the work with the same level of success. Felt less violating too, unless you took one second to scroll through the comments of all those people who wanted to _“bang”_ Junko.

 _Ugh._

It made Junko feel…empty. Almost _despairingly_ so. Enough to turn somebody against the world. Because to the world she may as well not exist. Turn up, smile, look pretty and shoot a peace-pose and wait for the all the praise to be showered down onto her until she drowned in it. What a meaningless, petty life. It had no value. The world that would raise it up above people like Mikan was despicable. Enough to damn it all to hellfire because it sure as _hell_ didn’t deserve prosperity if it couldn’t get its priorities straight. 

Junko remembered an old saying about freedom and order. Something that Taka had once said to her, but she had hardly been paying attention at the time, because his talk of rules was one-dimensional and _reeked_ of somebody who didn’t understand that rules were comfortable lies the pretentious told themselves _mattered_ so they could sleep at night.

An invisible fortress safeguarding them from the pitchforks of the hungry and disenfranchised.

But now that she thought on it, he might have been right. He had said something to the effect, and Junko was paraphrasing, about “absolute freedom is no better than chaos, and absolute order was the chaos of one and only one.” She thought that had some application to her own life, with some deviation, of course. Junko thought that absolute security- security with no pressures, no stresses, no complications- was no better than abject suffering. Suicide and depression are the illnesses of placation. Of affluence. Where needs are met less through effort and toil and more of expectation. The more a person is granted, the less they have to do. And usually, the emptier they feel. Junko’s existence meant nothing. It had no purpose, no reason to do anything. It was lethargy, a toxic paralysis of the mind. She was nothing, people’s thoughts of her nothing more than the superficial and hollow, and she had little direction.

But Junko always knew better than to complain. Smother the thought, silence it, bury it deep in the mind until the screaming white noise was barely a whisper. A phantom afterthought. She and Mukuro had been through _too_ much to worry about having it too easy at this point. Mukuro had sacrificed too much for her. Wearing her sins like a coat. Junko was a selfish person. Always asking Mukuro to make her problems disappear. Wash them away like mascara to a blemish. But she wasn’t that selfish, to cast aside all they had just because it left her tired and incomplete.

 _Junko’s right arm burns. She can’t pull it free, too small and too weak. Bound by metal. Her face hurts. Light barely cracks through her left eye._

_He’s shouting again. It’s all slurred. She doesn’t know what she’s done wrong this time. Hardly matters. Not as if he needed an excuse, never did._

_He’s distracted by something, Junko’s too busy crying. Something clicks. Then Junko’s swears she’s deaf. The ringing in her ears lasts for a lifetime._

She tried not to focus on that memory, but when she’s in a mood like this it always catches her off guard, ready to remind her of just _how_ bad things could be. Her flashes weren’t nearly as bad as Mukuro’s. Junko only ever felt cold and weak, shivers up and down the spine. It could be the Hell Mukuro lived with, dreamt of. She had to be thankful she wasn’t afflicted with that. 

Her hand wrapped around her right wrist, rolling it between her fingers. She could still feel the tingle in her arm. She looked at the pale skin. Untouched. No signs of damage. Nothing had been permanent. 

Nothing on the surface, at least.

Enough of that, Junko had to tell herself, nothing would be gained by lamenting the past and the cracks within her own psyche. Junko was healthy enough. Happy enough. She had friends, she had Mukuro and she had…Mikan. 

Mikan brought a smile back to her face. Rejuvenation in a name. A little flutter to her heart and spring in her step as she walked from dorm to academy. Heads turned, like always, murmurs about it being the Enoshima Junko. A persistent effect that she become a little big-headed about. Sure, she knew they didn’t think of her as anything less than eye-candy, but she did thrive off attention. Junko was suited to being the Diva. Of course, she wanted more than attention and only attention. She wasn’t a sociopath. But the feeling of having legions of fans waiting on your hand and foot couldn’t be underestimated. It fuelled her ego, and briefly distracted her from everything that Mikan had said that left Junko with pause.

The weather was cooperative enough with Junko’s choice of clothing, if a little cloudy overhead, light falling in spears rather than in blankets. It was warm though, with a slight kick of a breeze to counter it now and again. So long as the warmth didn’t burn, Junko was fine with it coiling against her skin. She fanned the nape of her neck once or twice, a gesture that sent the blood rushing to nearby men, and a few women. 

“You’re here early…I think.” Junko was caught off-guard by the meek voice, followed by a series of clicks and clacks and electronic explosions. Junko paused in stride, looking down to see none other than Nanami Chiaki, the Ultimate Gamer, sat by the edge of a water fountain at the front entrance of Hope’s Peak Academy. In her hands she held a pink handheld portable gaming device, though it sported no noticeable brand logos that Junko recognised. Junko was by no means an avid gamer, not to the _connoisseur_ heights that Chiaki resided upon, but she was confident enough that she could name most of the big-name brands and even a few obscure titles. Video games were a good medium for stress-relief and the benefit of having a twin-sister meant that you had an automatic co-op partner. So long as shooters of any variety were ruled out. 

“Oh, hi there Chiaki. Sup girl!” Junko greeted, smoothing out her skirt to set beside Chiaki on the fountain. It was an odd choice of location, but the weather as previously mentioned was decent enough. Chiaki also had that thick Hope’s Peak Academy hoodie on- a hoodie that Junko quite liked, especially with the bunny-ears on the hood, it was definitely _in_ this year- to keep her warm as well. She was fixated on her game, tongue pushed out the corner of her mouth as the engaged with whatever bullet hell game she was obsessed with this weak. Apparently, it was “Bullet Hell Season” according to Chiaki, so that’s the only genre she was dedicating time to. Didn’t appeal to Junko, but she wasn’t the video-game expert. 

“Hi.” Chiaki didn’t even look up to address Junko, which most might consider rude, but Chiaki was actually quite the sweetheart once she put the console down. 

“That a new console?” Junko asked.

“Yeah. I commissioned Iruma and Kazuichi to make it. Something that was portable but had the tech and components to match a full PC rig. 2080ti graphics card. Eight core 3800XT CPU. 32 gigabytes of RAM. 2 terabyte hard-drive.” Chiaki was practically drooling as she listed off the various components, eyes glittering like stars in the night sky.

“Holy crap! That thing is a beast! Just how the hell did they accomplish that?!”

Chiaki shrugged her shoulders, brow furrowing as she came across a challenging boss that left Junko without a partner to converse with for several seconds until Chiaki had isolated the patterns of attack.

“Dunno. But they both seemed pretty excited by the challenge of the project…I think.” Chiaki, as ever, remained indecisive when it came to her own conclusions. But Junko could see it. Iruma Miu would always jump at the chance to make something that seemed impossible (it was her speciality, after all) and you couldn’t stop Soda Kazuichi from wanting to figure a thing out, put it together, take it apart, and understand it in much the same way as Miu did. They would be quite the force if they worked together. But Miu was more of a competitor than a team player, and her ideas were always more extravagant and eccentric than Kazuichi’s. Frankly, Junko was surprised the two of them managed to make such a complex series of powerful processors fit into such a small object. Especially since Miu had a hand in it. There had to be a catch.

“So…you’re telling me that both _Iruma Miu_ and _Soda Kazuichi_ worked on something, and you’re using it without…concern?” Junko cocked an eyebrow at Chiaki, who paused her game, and looked up with a blank expression that neither looked serene nor alarmed. Perfectly neutral.

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

“Because…” Junko rolled her wrist in the air beside her face, looking up and out the corner of her vision as she searched for the write phrasing. “They’re…both…pervs?” 

Chiaki’s expression flickered with surprise, and then died like an ember snuffed of oxygen back into neutrality. She shrugged at Junko.

“Kazuichi is fine…I’m not Sonia, so there’s nothing to worry about.” Chiaki argued. “I don’t know about Iruma. I know she’s into blondes and robots…I think.”

“Blonde…oh, you mean Akamatsu.” Junko paused, eyes cold and lifeless, unblinking. “WAIT WHAT.” Junko exclaimed, eyes almost popping out her skull. “ROBOTS?!”

“She had a thing with the robot in her class…kind of.” Chiaki shrugged and then returned to her game. 

“What do you mean a _thing?!_ ” Junko grabbed Chiaki by the shoulders, turning the girl to face her, face finally displaying an emotion: surprise. Her lips thinned and eyes widened. “How do you have thing with a Robot?! They don’t even have dicks!”

“…How would you know?” Chiaki’s head tilted to the side, quizzically, and Junko finally let go of her, the gamer returning her attention to her handheld. 

“Ugh. It doesn’t matter.” Junko pinched the bridge of her nose, deciding to abandon that line of inquiry. She would just have to ask Iruma about that personally at another time. That would be amusing, at the least. Iruma wasn’t Kokichi, but she was happy to contribute to the many hijinks Junko liked to get up to. 

Like that one time when she made a Vocal Imitator that allowed Junko to speak in anybody’s voice so long as she had a valid recording from said person. They affectionately referred to that as the “Gaslighting Incident” where they kept talking to Toko as Byakuya, telling her how much he “loved her” and she should meet him in the kitchen and kiss him. Didn’t take a genius to understand why that was funny.

Okay, maybe a _little _cruel in hindsight. But that was the day Toko got over her little crush for somebody who couldn’t care if she lived or died, since it revealed to her just how obsessive, and easily manipulated, she was. It also hit her just how desperate she was for his affection, willing to believe the most obvious of lies. Luckily Komaru was visiting Makoto that weekend and was on fairly good terms with Toko, so she was able to comfort the girl.__

____

____

And we all know how _that_ turned out.

Really, Junko did a good thing. _Seriously!_ She helped a friend by bullying them out of a toxic dynamic and got them their very own first girlfriend. A little prank here and there could be good for the soul.

“How much did it cost? That _thing_ …” Junko gestured at the console with her index, still not trusting it. “Couldn’t have been cheap.”

“Nothing.” Chiaki stated.

“Huuuuuuuuuuh?” Junko blanched. “What do you mean “nothing”? Iruma doesn’t charge _nothing_ for her shit!”

“They didn’t charge me… _money_.” Chiaki seemed to blush, pulling her legs up until she was a small ball, hoodie pulled over her head and she balanced her device on her knees, continuing to tape away.

“What did they charge you?” Junko narrowed her eyes, her aura rising into a domineering one, oppressive and demanding.

Chiaki just shrugged. “They…Miu wanted to know if they looked as big as they appeared.” Chiaki mumbled.

“They? Who or…what, does that refer to?” 

“…My breasts.” Chiaki squeaked. Junko’s eyes widened, comically, and Chiaki pulled on the strings of her hoodie, mumbling nervously. Junko was, for the perhaps the first time in her life, stunned into silence. Leaving Chiaki to sort out the numerous questions flying through her head that she couldn’t translate into the spoken word. “…I didn’t let Kazuichi touch me, okay?”

“OH, BECAUSE THAT MAKES IT SO MUCH BETTER!” Junko shouted, hands shaking and clutching into fists.

“Miu says she has a whole list of _“Chicks whose breasts might not be complete shit”_ and I was apparently on it.” Chiaki explained. 

Junko sighed, face falling into her hands. “Why am I not surprised…”

“Apparently the list is: Toujo Kirumi, Shirogane Tsumugi and me.”

“Wait…” Junko’s face lifted back up, and she raised a single finger into the space in front of her face, questioningly. “Why the hell am I not on this list?” Junko said, feeling resentful at her omission.

“Oh. Well, Miu did say the list’s criteria specified _“Deceptively big breasts”_ so maybe she thinks yours aren’t “deceptive” …maybe.” Chiaki shrugged. As dry and devoid of emotion as her voice suggested, the impish wiggle of her brow and smile that crossed over her lips briefly suggested something else, and Junko looked to wear Chiaki was staring: Junko’s rather _exposed_ cleavage. “You don’t do yourself any favours.”

Junko grumbled, teeth sinking into her lip as she snapped another button of her shirt shut, her modesty increasing just a touch. 

“Shit, give me fair warning before you body me like that…”

“Well, either way, Miu said she would do it for free if she got to cop a feel.”

“And…you let her? Even when she’s dating _Kaede?_ ” Junko asked, clearly unimpressed with Miu’s ethics or lack thereof. 

“She said it was for science.” Chiaki’s sincerity and naivety hit Junko like a slap to the face, punch to the gut and a sweep to the leg: a litany of sensations she couldn’t quite organise or respond to with any grace or eloquence. Chiaki both seemed to believe it and understand there was something wrong with it but refused to explore the possibility, blank as ever. “It was quick. I hardly felt a thing.”

“Chiaki.” Junko cautioned, tone dipping like an unenthused teacher who just caught their student doing something _remarkably_ stupid.

“But the console, Junko!” Chiaki’s enthusiasm flared into life, eyes shining as she held the device in the air above her head. 

“ _Chiaki._ ” Junko stressed and the Gamer pouted, falling back in on herself with a sigh. “Don’t let yourself get taken advantage of just for a console. Okay?”

“Okay…” Chiaki pouted before she opted to pause her game, running her hands nervously over the shoulder pads of her custom-made console. “Don’t tell Hajime…please?” She begged. Junko softened at that. It was strange for the junior to be advising and comforting the senior. Junko didn’t even have the luxury of drawing on her history of having a sibling to justify it, since she was the younger of two. Even if they were twins, separated by hours, Mukuro had always been the more mature. Chiaki had always been slightly airheaded. Not as bad as _some_ people on campus, certainly, but her casual attitude sometimes failed to shift with the atmosphere. This could give her a calming, grounded aura when things got too serious and people needed something to cling to for security and level-headedness. Sometimes it meant Chiaki completely missed social cues or misunderstand subtle hints people were directing at her. But she was a fundamentally good person, despite the fact if she could live as a shut-in for the rest of her life she would. 

“It’s okay. I won’t say a word.” Junko winked and pressed her finger to her own lips, cementing their secret. 

“Thanks.” Chiaki smiled. “You didn’t answer my question, by the way.”

“Oh, you asked me a question?” Junko played with one of the pins decorating the collar of her shirt, trying to think back. “Mukuro would probably say that was rude of me, but I totally forgot.”

“That’s okay. I just wanted to know what brought you in so early. You usually sleep in.” Chiaki said.

Junko tapped her foot in the open space between them, sucking on her lip. “It’s…nothing major. I was going to collect my glasses from the Nurse’s Office today, that’s all.” Chiaki was either too enthralled with her game to take notice of Junko’s many tells or didn’t care to point them out. Chiaki was good like that. She took people at face value. If they didn’t trust her with important information, she wouldn’t push them to confide in her in any way. 

“Cool. Mikan’s in today.” Chiaki informed Junko of something she was very much aware of. “Tell her I said hi. And ask if she wants to do a gaming night with the others.”

“Right. Mikan.” Junko rolled her tongue inside of her mouth when she was done with the name, as if trying to get a feel or a taste for it. “She’s an odd bunny, huh?”

“Bunny…” Chiaki seemed to smile at that. “Mikan’s nice. Scared of her own shadow. But I think she’s a good person. Have you met her?” Chiaki asked. It was a reasonable query. Junko only really interacted with Chiaki’s class through her and Hajime, they were a pretty insular bunch. Keeping mostly to themselves. Hiyoko and Mahiru might have been the only exceptions to that. 

“Uh…yeah. Once or twice.” Junko admitted, tapping the edge of her skirt. “She was nice. Bit of a stutterer.” Junko knew better than to phrase it like that, since it sounded derisive, but she was hoping to eke out of Chiaki some information about the Nurse if she left her statement open-ended enough. 

“Mikan has some self-confidence issues. Mostly to do with her self-image.” Chiaki informed.

“Why? She’s pretty.” That seemed to pull at something in Chiaki, expression momentarily discarding neutrality for surprise again. 

“Yeah. She’s pretty…I think.” Chiaki shrugged. Ever the non-committal conversationalist. “Mikan doesn’t see it that way, though.”

“Wonder why…” Junko mused, resting her chin on her palm atop a knee. 

“…I probably shouldn’t tell you.” Chiaki’s voice was hushed. 

“Why not?” Junko did her best to keep her voice even, betraying the nervousness within herself. She wanted to know more about the girl, if only for curiosity’s sake rather than her crush’s. 

“Junko…in class 77-B we try and treat Mikan like she’s a porcelain vase or…” Chiaki’s eyes light up. “A super rare in-game item!” Her vigour soon subsided, and she returned to her quietened self. “I won’t tell you everything because…” Chiaki sighed. “Don’t take it the wrong way. You’re nice…I think.” Indecisive praise aside, Junko appreciated Chiaki was giving her this much and apology alongside it. It was true they didn’t know each-other the best, but Junko only had the best of intentions and to her credit Chiaki was good at reading people when she was focused. The fact she was trying to protect her friend was evidence of that. “But Mikan’s life is a sore topic for her. And really, it’s only something she has the right to talk about. That being said, I’m sure you won’t be surprised to hear Mikan was bullied as a kid, given her meek attitude.” 

Junko’s hand on her left-side, the one hidden from Chiaki, balled into a fist so tight she worried her own acrylic nails would draw blood. Naturally, she had nothing to go off of, and bullying covered a _very_ broad topic, but her own overactive imagination more than compensated in supplying her with images that made her blood boil.

“How…badly? I don’t want to…y’know, bring up anything that might upset her.” Junko finally allowed the emotion she was holding back seep into her voice. She spoke with care and a gentleness like holding a new-born duckling. 

“Badly.” For once Chiaki spoke bluntly, voice even becoming terse, a frown tugging at her lips. It was evident to Junko that Chiaki hated the idea too. “Whatever you do, don’t bring up her parents. You should be okay other than that.” Chiaki paused her game one more time to look at Junko. Her face was plastic now, a sculpted expression with dead, glazed eyes. “But you’re just going to pick up your glasses, so that would never happen.”

“R-Right…” Junko blanched, taking a very visible gulp. Chiaki’s expression lightened.

“Good.” 

“Hey…Chiaki?” Junko’s voice was stiff.

“Mmm?” The gamer hummed.

“What’s your thoughts on Talent…?” Junko asked, voice soft.

“Talent?” Her teeth sunk into her lip. It was an abrupt swerve in the conversation, and that reflected in the visible surprise in Chiaki’s expression. Chiaki could be described as perpetually deadpan. But unlike similar students like Harukawa Maki who shared such a trait, Chiaki wasn’t apathetic. She wore a constant poker face, whether by design or nature, Junko didn’t know, but emotion could easily be drawn into her features if the right conditions were met. This just so happened to be one of them, confusion rippling across her visage. 

“Yeah. Say that…say you had a choice. A choice about who to help with your Talent. Let’s say you could help the whole world because of how influential you are…or you could help one very insecure person. Somebody you don’t even know. But you like them. What…what would you do? Would helping that one person be bad? Would it make you a bad person to ignore the world just for them?”

Chiaki appeared to find this question quite the conundrum. Chiaki went as far as to set her console down on her lap, and she looked up to the sky. The clouds blotted it now, titanic shadows passing over the entire city. A cool breeze followed them. The fountain behind her trickled water, thin sheets of liquid acting like a million diamonds stretching the image of the stone fixture broader. Its resolution faded, trickling in and out of sight with every packet of light that melded into it. It glimmered like the filament in a workshop at daybreak. Chiaki didn’t pay it any mind. She had already seen it for what it was, a cascading figure that only ever did the same thing, one singular action and event without variation. Like clockwork, every few seconds, a new sprout of water shot into the air, landed on the first of three dishes, and slowly overflowed onto the next one below. A constant in the world. 

Maybe that’s why Chiaki sat there. Maybe it was to find something predictable like a game. For all the world it was something that never transformed or amended based on its surroundings. Junko couldn’t be sure though. And to her, it looked pretty. But maybe that was the problem. Maybe she wasn’t thinking deeply enough. The world had to be more than what it was on the surface. 

“I…think what’s more important is what you chose to do with what you have.” Chiaki stated. “I always think we should do as much as we can with what we have. What we have is special, and if we can help as many people as possible, then we should. But…that doesn’t mean that’s the smart thing to do.”

“The…smart thing to do?” Junko repeated.

“Not everyone is cut out for being the Hope of the world, you know? Some people…would be broken by that responsibility. It’s a lot to put onto one person. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with focusing on helping one person, or just the people closest to you. If everyone in the world did one nice thing for one person, the world would be a lot better, don’t you think? Doesn’t matter how far apart or how close you are.” 

“Yeah…maybe.” Junko nodded.

“But also, this world isn’t a game. There isn’t only one clear route. You can…do anything you want. There must be more possibilities than just that one dichotomy. And if there’s not, make one. Help those in need. Offer food to somebody on the street, volunteer at a Homeless shelter or a Veteran’s Shelter. Bring toys to an orphanage. You don’t need to be an Ultimate to be a good person. And you don’t need to use your talent to do it. What I’m trying to say is: Don’t fall back on thinking you’re trapped into only doing one thing one way.” Chiaki turned to smile at Junko. “Don’t try and look at the big picture all the time. Sometimes…the little things count. I think.”

That was a lot to process for Junko. She wasn’t one for trying to piece the world together, to understand it on a grand scale, but a part of her knew Chiaki was right. Mikan may have been right about her estimation of Talent. That if you could do something, and chose not to, then you were wasting the opportunities your Talent could create. That was something to consider, because as Ultimate’s they could solve issues that nobody else could. But they were people first and foremost. Having all that responsibility, trying to shoulder everything just because of the position and importance it carried, would only bring you down under its weight. If Junko could only help the world in small ways, that still mattered, didn’t it? They all added up in the end. 

She felt as if she had an answer. Or the beginnings of one. It wasn’t exactly poetic or grandiose. It didn’t hit the page with finesse or inspire waves upon waves of verse and praise, but it made sense to her. She could reconcile this with the world she had lived in, with what she wanted to do in it. 

Junko pumped her fists, kicked the insides of her feet together, and jumped up onto them at her full height.

“Okay! That’s all I needed to hear! Thanks, Chiaki. I know what I want to do now.” Junko proudly proclaimed.

“You do…? That’s great.” The gamer smiled softly. “Good luck.”

There was a newfound sense of confidence swelling inside of Junko. She could feel every twitch and expansion of her heart. It was so fervent that Junko thought it might burst free from her chest and shoot off to find Mikan before her. Amidst the growing light of the morning, colossal shadows being torn asunder by the blinding glow of the sun, Junko felt as if the whole world was baptising her with its support and approval. Junko may have only been an object of desire to the rest of the world, something that made her feel like nothing, but if she could provide Mikan with a simple act and declaration of intent to better her, then she could be something more. She wouldn’t just be nothing. She had no idea yet what she would do, it was all vague statements with no concrete examples, but she knew she was going to do something for Mikan. 

It was funny. She had only met the girl once and now she wanted to do something for her. It couldn’t be just the shared stuttering that Junko understood could be awful to live with. She didn’t think a crush could be this strong by itself. To make her so selfless to go out of her way to actually want to improve a person’s lot in life. But here she was. Back straight, shoulders squared, jaw set and sight with a wide grin on her face. Eyes blazing with determination as the crimson ichor still trickled down her palms from the earlier _stabbing_ of her nails. It was what she wanted to do, and nothing was about to stop her. Mikan simply wouldn’t stop occupying her thoughts, so why bother fighting it? Sometimes indulgence in obsession wasn’t a bad thing, especially when you were trying to provide a helping hand.

“See ya, Chiaki! Have fun with your game! I’ve gotta collect my glasses!” Junko called as she exploded into a sprint towards the school. Chiaki just tilted her head as the figure of Junko receded into the distance. She chuckled briefly and slipped her device into her backpack. 

“They’ll be a cute couple…I think.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> This chapter was meant to include the next one, where Mikan and Junko talk, but it was running long and I didn't like how the second half came out, so I'm rewriting it, adding more dialogue and description, making it into its own chapter. It's mostly done anyway, so it won't be long before it's out. Sorry for anyone thinking I'm dragging it for drama, wasn't meant to be that way. 
> 
> Part of the difficulty with characterising Junko is...well, giving her any sort of character really. She's utterly insane and reprehensible in the series, proper. Lots of people try rationalising a non-despair Junko as chaotic, but well-meaning or harmless. To me, she has to have significant trauma like Mukuro. The difference being they never hit a breaking point, life was still tough but they managed to get through to the other side. So, essentially her character is kind of a hell of a lot more normalised for a teenage girl. She's a bit trendy, a little self-involved and indulgent, but she's a nice person who enjoy pulling a prank or two. She's probably the most OOC out of anyone, but that was a given. I do try to balance it, but if she veers off into something completely unlike what you may expect I guess that's just the consequence of fundamentally rewriting her history. 
> 
> Chiaki is just a good egg. We will not discuss or reference anything in DR3. Nope. Not happening. In this, Chiaki is simply the Ultimate Gamer who is in a relationship with Hajime and is probably one of the wisest of the bunch. I reference her SDR2 speech to Hajime in chapter 6 for Junko, just because I love that speech and it still makes me cry. It's very uplifting, and it seems to be exactly what Junko needed to hear.
> 
> Funny fact: The "Deceptively Big Breasts" comment came from my research into Kirumi's diary entry. I watched chapter 2 of DRv3 again and her side portrait has her much more "endowed" than what I assumed she was from her front-facing portrait. The joke naturally spawned from there.
> 
> Next time: Junko and Mikan come face to face, just the two of them.


	7. Hearts in Communion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junko makes her move, but leaves Mikan with control over the game.

**_Calendar 1, September 29th..._**

A castle without a Queen was oft described as a body without a soul, nor heart. Devoid of sound, light, life. A flatlined pulse. Cold, meaningless silence. 

A piano missing its most used key.

A Detective without their magnifying glass. 

A mechanic without their wrench. 

A soldier without a war to fight.

A door without a key.

So it was good this castle had a Queen. Regal, elegant, merciful; oh, Junko could boast forever before she grew tired of naming her _many positive_ attributes and virtues. 

Hope’s Peak Academy was her castle, and it very much teamed with life and sound. A cacophony of vibrant voices, echoing off the walls, the scratch of chalk signifying progress and education, covert giggles hidden behind palms at the latest gossip; Hope’s Peak was a million threads all pulling in every direction possible. And when Junko walked through them, they all wrapped tightly, eager to please and serve their Queen.

Enoshima Junko was royalty here. The Queen Bee. Not to belabour a point, but Junko’s will was law. What she liked was the taste on everybody’s lips. What she hated was sin. Eyes always drew to her, watching her constantly. Not out of scrutiny, not truly, nor was it ever a constant surveillance formed from malice, all were enraptured by her.

And equally terrified should her wrath fall square upon them.

That never happened though. Contrary to what many may _think_ , Junko never so much as raised a hand to a person. Nor did any of the comments, criticisms or calculated insults ever come from a place of hatred. Perhaps misguided transient frustration and a willingness to bite back if somebody bit first, but never hatred. Naturally, a person in her position was all too aware, intent or no, what you said created ripples. Echoes. Humanity stripped of its ego and fanciful austere dressings was about as rabid as a pack of Hyenas. Always ready to turn on whomever the Alpha deemed worthy of punishment.

Dog eat dog, as Gundham might say. 

Junko could have the most sanitised of intentions, and the ripples would grow and grow until a Tsunami had carved its way through the school. And she would be left to pick up the pieces. Sometimes she wished it would transcend mere metaphor, just so Junko could pick up the shards of broken souls and stab herself with them. A polite, traditional exercise of shame and apology for the harm she had done. 

But people were in control of their own actions, as easily influenced as they may be. She could only take responsibility so far, and to wish her own self-destruction was both naïve and a fleeting desire of a girl who grew tired of bringing harm without the desire to do so. She had to watch what she said and the company she kept, lest she accidentally drove the stake in to an innocent soul. Or somebody did it for her. 

When people said a high school was like a jungle, they weren’t wrong. It was an apt comparison. But Junko thought a worthier analogy was that a high School was like a Castle, Queen and all. Filled, writhe with politics and backstabbing. Ambitious upstarts, loyal fools, helpless and powerless souls simply there to do their job. 

Junko oversaw all of that and tried to maintain some semblance of order. Time would tell if she only made people’s lives worse, or not. 

Good or not, it was her castle. And she took some pride in that. 

A million threads all pulling in every direction, and behind them all was her, a million marionettes with her as the puppeteer. Capable of putting on any show she wanted. Anything was fine, as long as boredom never set in.

 _‘Maybe this is why people compare me to Kokichi.’_ Junko mused to herself in her own head, heels clacking against concrete, hips lilting with every stride. 

Hope’s Peak was a marvel of architectural achievement. Junko knew nothing of architecture, nothing of the logistics involved, the effort required to erect buildings, uninformed on how they are maintained or developed and redeveloped, but it was self-evident how this mass of metal and brick and glass was beyond normal human accomplishment. It must have been some chunk of Olympus fallen from upon high, some resurfaced slab of Atlantis, The Lord’s true chosen city that would put Jerusalem to shame. Perhaps some conjuration by the Kami’s, a forgotten final blessing of Izanagi’s blessed Amenonuhoko, the spear that rose the lands.

Or it was just a very well put together series of buildings. Take your pick.

From an aesthetic point of view, Junko was surprised at the lack of uniformity in the building’s design. Yes, she knew nothing of architecture itself- the design and construction parts, anyway- but she liked to think she had a fairly good grasp on colour coordination. Homogeneity of colour coordination predated all known civilisation. It was intrinsic to any culture, society or paradigm under which humanity found itself. It displayed a rugged sense of loyalty, an immediate signifier of allegiance to a particular cause or group. It could be seen in the political or apolitical equally. Everything from political parties, Nations’ flags, sports teams’ jerseys, even something as mundane as casual dress. Certain colours were preferred universally over others for certain events, a soft form of indication towards an attitude or idea. Black and white were respectful, hence why all suits at major and important events were coordinated that way. The same can be said for funerals. Red was an aggressive colour. Commonly wore by women to indicate sexual availability due to its association with blushing. That is also why lipstick was used. Naturally, certain original motivations were eroded over time as they become more and more commonplace. No woman- at least consciously- applied lipstick to get laid. That would be absurd. But there was an indirect awareness it made you look more attractive. Even if the original intent was lost to time, the practice transcended such a fate.

Which is why she found Hope’s Peak Academy to be so oddly designed. All building’s that survive for as long as that particular feat of engineering were bound to change and morph from their original conception. But there was, again, that sense of uniformity around scheme or colouration. Hope’s Peak had none of this. At the front was Gothic-styled church walling, stretched high and sharp. Coloured like dry blood with an old cast-iron gate like spears at rest, and brick walling as its border. Further behind it lost that European influence, becoming more modern; glass towers latticed with silver beams criss-crossing across its surface. There was, at the least, symmetry in placement of building, shape and consistency matching on both the left and the right. The back reflected modernism, strange and impractical shapes curving in on themselves like fishhooks. Designed as if to prove a point, make a statement.

Each iteration diverged from the last. There was no maintaining the standards of the old, changing and reflecting the newer generation each time. A landmark of history- each and every new wave. Maybe that was how it should have been. Hope’s Peak was different to every other school in founding and intent. It was expression itself, change and reform was its principal concepts. 

Everyone left their mark here, and Junko wondered what hers would be. She lingered her sight on the crest of Hope’s Peak, the singular distinguishable icon that never changed. A shield on black and white, feather-white wings at its flank, crown at its zenith, fountain pen and…a peculiar insignia over said pen. Strange, Junko thought. She couldn’t quite decide what that shape was, or what it referenced. Far too abstract, she thought. It left her unsettled. Maybe a serrated blade? No, far too morbid for a high school. A wave function? Perhaps, though she hardly understood the connection.

Maybe there was no answer. Too abstract for a one-word answer, anyway. It might look good on that plushie idea for a teddy bear she had in mind…

_‘Nah, pretty sure they have that shit trademarked. Plus, it’s creepy, and who would want a monochromatic bear anyway? Dumb idea. Maybe I’ll design a bunny. Bitches love bunnies. Oh! Mikan might like it then. She makes me think of bunnies, so it’s settled.’_

Junko passed by the front of the school when her own reflection caught her eye. Something was off. Her nostrils flared at the look she gave herself, her hand played with a lock of strawberry-blonde that fell out of place. She had to be perfect, if not for Mikan, for herself. It was like an itch. An irritating burn under the skin that skipped away whenever she tried to dig it out. She didn’t know if it was to do with her ADHD, or maybe something deeper, some perfectionist quality about herself that didn’t accept anything less than the ideal, but she quickly grew bored of how she dressed and styled herself.

Junko would always come back to the same image by the end of the day. Something familiar and comfortable, something Mukuro could create with her own hands and it meant more because of that. Having a style created by somebody you treasured had a novel quality to it that didn’t age as quickly. But right now, she didn’t want the two twin tails at the top of her head. She pulled the clips free and then secured her long ocean of hair behind her head, tying her hair into a loose ponytail. She quirked an eyebrow at herself.

_‘Not bad. Missing something. Oh! The glasses. Gives me a real “Smart and Sexy” vibe. I could pass as a teacher.’_ Junko smirked. It would just be another façade, like everything she did, but it would be something different for a while. Something less stale. It would dull the ache in the back of her head. 

She continued on her path to the Nurse’s office. Her hand stalled at the handle, and it quickly withdrew to her side. She could feel the burn in her face already. Her lips were dry, so she didn’t fail to hesitate to turn around, lean towards the window behind her and use it as a makeshift mirror to apply lip balm. Today was cherry, and there was a note in her bag. Curiously, it seemed restocked with lunch and textbooks that Junko didn't remember packing.

_‘Hey sis._

__

__

_Thought you might forget your stuff. Don’t worry, Chihiro helped make these so don’t feel too bad about me getting up early._

_She’s better at programming than slicing Tomatoes, that’s for sure, ha-ha._

_Hope you like BLT._

_-Love, Mukuro’_

Junko wiped at her eyes with her fist. She didn’t deserve Mukuro. If it weren’t for her, she’d have spent the whole day hungry and probably confined to detention for forgetting her textbooks, or at the least probably bumming off of Makoto or Sayaka. She really did think of everything and put the extra effort in. Junko pocketed the lip balm. She’d thank Mukuro later. Right now, she had glasses to collect.  
She hyped herself up, slapped her own cheeks with her palms for feeling and steeled herself. It was only Mikan. She was a timid, tiny thing. There was no reason to be intimidated by her. None at all. But an irrational fear could never be reasoned with like that and she knew it. The only way to get past this wall within herself that stopped her from moving forward was just to take the plunge. 

Junko took a deep breath and pushed open the door- slowly this time- remembering her mistake the last time around. She strode into the room. There was a soft sound drifting from the corner of the room. A tune. One of those toe-tappers that caught the attention immediately. Junko didn’t recognise the tune, but she liked it. From the sounds of things, it was an acoustic piece. An old guitar being strummed. A dreamy piece, every note hanging in the air with a story to tell behind it. Junko discovered the radio it was coming from, propped onto the corner of a windowsill by an unoccupied patient’s bed. It had the effect of making Junko want to whistle even though she had never heard it before. The room was the same blinding white, offensive walls she remembered. Enough that it could compete with the rays of the sun. It had the nauseating aroma of disinfectant wafting through the air that could make a man gag. Typical of a medical facility. 

Now, just a few feet away, nearly within grasp, was Tsumiki Mikan. Junko could stand there and stare for eternity, and she still thought she wouldn’t have struggled to list every important detail that made her heart skip a beat. The catalogue was too long, too detailed. Everything from the shy smile pushing back against the overwhelming force of her self-esteem issues, the sparkle in her eye as she carried out every mundane duty. From the rhythmic rasp of her well-trimmed fingernails, to the cotton-white bandages that fit perfectly to form around right leg and left arm, everything caught the attention and held her strictly in place. Junko didn’t see any reason to resist. She was just as willingly culpable in her observation of Mikan as the invisible force that tied, pulled and demanded she be here. The light trickled in from the windows behind the Nurse, golden threads of luminosity, iridescent dust like billions of diamonds wafted in and out of sight around her shoulders and crown. It stuck to her pale skin and shimmered on spot, like an aura of protection and care was emanating from this whole room, but it all spawned from her. Her head tilted left and right, there was a tune on her lips ready to spill out, round and pink, but Junko was deaf to it. The sight before her eyes was more important than any sound right now. 

Junko wondered if the wounds under the bandages Mikan wore could be described just as the rest of her. Were they muted, brief flashes of trauma that complimented her complexion, or were they horrible reminders of that abuse Chiaki had warned her to avoid? Sickly and dark. Curiosity killed the cat, and while satisfaction _may_ have brought it back, Junko didn’t want to take that risk.

“E-Enoshima!” Junko was pulled from the siren’s song, her musical musings, by Mikan’s soft voice. She was looking up from her desk again, hand paused in its scribblings and lips barely parted. She was already blushing for some reason. 

Junko was still trapped on the spot, heat rising. Had Mikan noticed her presence already? How long had she been staring? Junko did the only thing that seemed rational at the time. 

“Y-You can call me J-Junko!” She shouted in retreat and pulled the door shut with a mighty crash, door handle vibrating violently in her hand. Her breath was stilted, sharp in her lungs, stinging her with every breath she took like it was barbed.

There was no excuse for that, Junko had simply lost her composure those gentle pink eyes found her own blue. She needed to escape that gaze, if only for a moment, to strengthen her resolve for the battle ahead. She thought it quaint to compare simply talking to Mikan to a battle. She supposed it was apt, in a sense, a struggle between heart and head over what to say and what to do. Even now her intention was a murky fusion of “confess your attraction” and “offer your friendship”. Her talk with Chiaki had convinced herself to be honest, but if she was _too_ honest surely it would only scare Mikan, right?

The longer she spent on this side of the door, the worse it would get. Mikan would fret and probably pull it open to check on her if she didn’t return quickly.

“Well, that was dumb of me…” Junko chided herself. She squared her shoulders, and pushed open the door again, smile wide and embarrassed as Mikan stared back: justifiably dumbfounded with the retreat and advance Junko had performed. “S-Sorry!” Junko rubbed at the back of her head. 

“A-Are you okay…?” Mikan asked, concern filtering into her voice. She threaded her bottom lip between her teeth, and those eyes became briefly analytical. Like she was trying to diagnose Junko’s malfunction.

_‘Good luck with that one, gonna need a whole team.’_

“Oh, pshaw, I’m great!” Junko waved her hand up and down carefreely. “I just…wanted to enter with a cool line or something. But I…uh…couldn’t think of one.” Junko declared, figuring the excuse was at least somewhat plausible. 

“Hmmm…” Mikan looked away out the corner of her eye. It appeared she bought anything she was offered easily enough. Junko couldn’t tell if that was genuine though. Maybe it was naivety, maybe she had learnt not to question things people lied about to save herself the trouble of other’s ire. People could be sensitive, violent even, when their lies were questioned. In Mikan’s case, Junko thought it likely the latter was more the rule than the exception. “I guess you c-could say…y-you were all out of _Patients?_ ” 

The tension inside Junko immediately deflated after hearing that. She found herself snickering. It was an awful joke, terrible, beyond redeeming, really. Somehow, she still found it funny. The pun managed to eat away some of the nerves she had been building up, and levity took its place. 

“That’s awful, girl!” Junko laughed behind her palm. “Good for you, I like awful humour!”

“Hehehe…” Mikan giggled, perhaps the most adorable giggle Junko had ever heard, and the smile that was born from it was radiant. “W-Would you like a chance to start again?” Mikan provided, and Junko accepted with a grateful smile, stepping inside, and closing the door behind her. 

“Hi Mikan.” Junko waved.

“Y-Your h-hair…” Mikan’s eyes widened, her voice bashful. Junko couldn’t help but smile at that. Mikan was perceptive, but that came as no surprise. She would have to be to notice the littlest of symptoms and deviations therein when providing care for patients. 

“Yeah? You like it? Did it on a whim.” Junko shrugged, trying to play if off as casual. She ignored the pounding of her heart at being in the same room as Mikan. She stepped further into the room, now only the full reach of her arm away from Mikan. The thrum of her heart in her ears- something she had never experienced before- was close to overpowering. So loud she worried Mikan might have been able to hear it, or it would deafen her to her timid words. 

“Y-You’re a-always pretty…” Always. That word left Junko puzzled, as if they had met more than once. Twice, if you considered the now. “I-In all your pictures I-I see you wear lots of d-different styles b-but…t-that one is nice.” It was like Mikan had read her mind. Of course. Whilst this may have only been their second meeting, Mikan probably felt as if this was just one of many. No doubt every new cover or interview or photoshoot supplied Mikan with an entirely new Junko to meet. While Junko had only ever supplied Mikan with passing glances, Mikan had been supplied with novels worth of content to understand and evaluate Junko as a person. She already knew everything there was worth knowing about when it came to Junko.

Well, not really. Junko’s interviews and her answers in them were never lies, but she omitted the unpleasant details and embellished the content people came for. It was only ever half the picture. And it was a half people tended to ignore, most just came for the pictures anyway. An ostentatious version of a pin-up girl, something for the prude; the person in denial about being a perv who only wanted the cleavage and the bashful eyelashes that fluttered for you only. 

“B-But I liked the other style better…” Mikan seemed to catch herself, and threw her hands left and right as she squirmed. “I-I-I’m sorryyyyyyyy! That was rude! P-Please forgive me!”

“A-Ah…t-that’s okay, I don’t mind.” Junko leaned in to take Mikan’s hands, stopping her from wildly flailing, now frozen to the spot. Her hands were about as warm as her face, dusted in pink.

“Y-Y-You don’t…?” Mikan inquired.

“Nah, it’s cool. You like what you like, right?” Mikan looked about, eyes darting to the side before they managed to meet Junko’s cool gaze. She nodded her head, insecurely, but she seemed to agree. “What do you like about it so much?” 

“I-I-I think…i-it’s m-messier…” Mikan looked down at the hands holding her own, features pulling together.

“You like me when I look…messier?” Junko smirked, one eyebrow pulling up. She found it a strange reason, but an amusing one without a hint of malice or derision. 

“Y-Yeah.” Mikan pulled one of her hands free and wiped it across the asymmetry of her fringe. “It makes me…f-feel like I-I’m not weird…t-that you’re a l-little like me…b-but you’re still beautiful! I-I shouldn’t have compared us! I’m s-sorry!”

Junko stared at Mikan, face falling, for a few seconds. That hit her harder than she imagined. That must have been what Chiaki was talking about. The self-image issues. Junko hadn’t noticed the choppy cut to Mikan’s purple hair when they met previously. It was uneven. Messy. But Junko found it quaint. Something distinct and different.

Junko smiled brightly back at Mikan, leaning down and brushing the fringe herself. “You have wonderful hair, Mikan.”

“I-I do…?” Mikan whispered.

“Yup! I think it’s unique.” Junko confirmed. She felt the sudden urge to pet Mikan, like a puppy, patting her on the top of the head. She smiled wide at the squirm of the girl, but she settled into it. Mikan wound her eyes shut tight, but she relaxed under Junko’s touch, sighing. “You don’t have to be like me to think positively of yourself.” Junko informed the older girl. “You’re great as you are.”

“T-T-Thank you…” The Nurse finally smiled. “O-Oh! Your glasses! I-I should fetch them f-for you.” Mikan suddenly remembered and Junko retracted her hand. Disappointment surfaced on Mikan’s face at the loss of Junko’s touch, and Junko thought it looked cute. She had quite the honest array of expressions. They could steal the heart of any man or woman if Mikan got close enough.

Junko was thankful she happened to be one of the few who apparently noticed them. It was like her own little secret. A gem only she had ever spelunked for. 

Junko sat down on the same chair as the last time she had when visiting Mikan. She crossed a leg over the other and hummed along to the tune that crept around their conversation once she had identified a few key beats to it. 

“Y-You like the m-music?” Mikan asked with her back to Junko, shuffling through a box of packages. 

Junko hummed in recognition of the fact.

“M-My f-friend I-Ibuki g-gave me the CD for it. I-I wanted t-to make people f-feel comfy here…I-I k-know v-visiting the D-Doctor’s c-can be scary, b-but it d-doesn’t h-have to be…” Mikan explained.

“You think these things through a lot?” Junko asked, leaning on the desk.

“I-I like h-helping people.” Mikan turned back around when she found the parcel with Junko’s name on it. Hands already working to tear it open and reveal that encrusted oval case once more. “A-Atmosphere i-is s-something not a lot of p-people consider w-when you’re t-trying to treat p-patients. I-It’s n-not the most important t-thing ever, b-but if I-I can settle anybody’s nerves j-just a little, t-then I’m d-doing my job a-and I c-can be confident in myself.” Mikan chuckled to herself as she sat across from Junko again. 

“What’s funny?” Junko asked, sitting up straight. 

“C-Confidence i-isn’t something I-I’m all t-that familiar with being…” Mikan shrugged, fingers gliding over the case, eyes tracing her own movements. She delayed in handing it over, like it would be forfeiting the reason Junko even put up with her. Of course, that wasn’t true. Junko would probably find an excuse to stay even after being provided with her glasses. 

“Maybe I can help with that.” Junko mused.

“J-Junko?” Mikan tilted her head. 

“I want…I want to help. I haven’t stopped thinking about what you said about Talent. About how somebody who can make a different who chooses not to is a bad person. Spurning Talent when some people struggle to make ends meet is…seriously uncool.” Mikan’s eyes widened at how Junko had sprung this conversation onto her. It had come out of the blue. But it weighed heavily on Junko, because for the first time in her life she was really thinking about things more than just as they appeared. “So, I was thinking. Yeah, I could try and make people more aware of systemic injustices, and all that other boring crap!” Junko exclaimed, brazenly. “But that would be dishonest! The world…hasn’t been nice to me or my sister. Nobody really likes me for me. I’m just pretty. Or funny. Or quirky. I’m not…I’m me, y’know? I’m Enoshima Junko. I’m not a billboard. I’m not a product. I’m a person. Asides from my class, I feel like the whole world wants to ignore that and treat me like an expensive dress. I barely…I barely exist.”

“J-Junko…” Mikan slowly moved her hand over to the Fashionista, hesitating just a touch and Junko 

“Mikan, can you do me a favour…?” Junko inquired, her voice falling of an edge, becoming more ominous and emptier. Junko could see the gulp Mikan responded with, a twitch at the edge of her throat. The shift in mood concerned her, it concerned Junko as well, but she was always better at conveying her ideas through her actions than her words.

“W-What is it?” Mikan asked, eyes falling away.

“Look at me.” Junko requested, voice like velvet, soft and inviting. Mikan did as she was asked, tentatively, eyes fluttering open and shut as if she was unsure if she should disobey or not. But that was okay, because Junko’s entire plan was to ensure Mikan never felt like anything Junko asked for was an order. “You think I’m pretty, right? That’s all most people see.”

“You’re n-not just a p-pretty face, J-Junko. D-Don’t think like t-that.” Mikan implored. 

“Thank you. I know that.” Junko smiled, but even she could feel how forced it was. How her muscles revolted against the lie, pushing back. She had to bite her lip to maintain the lie. “But you do think it, right? You think I’m pretty.”

“Junko…” Mikan’s voice wavered, but her eyes seemed determined to remain open this time. She met Junko’s gaze, softened, inviting. 

“It’s okay. You can tell me.” 

“You’re pretty…” Mikan admitted, voice all but a hushed whimper.

“You like looking at me, right?” Junko continued. Mikan nodded back at her, face burning hot. “The way you look at me is different, y’know? Different to anybody else. The way you talk to me. I like it. You’re scared, but you’re trying not to be. And I don’t think it’s me that scares you, is it?”

“Y-You’re not s-scary…I-I think you’re nice…” Mikan said, quiet as a mouse.

Junko began to move in, reducing the space between them an inch at a time, word at a time. Her hands glided up Mikan’s arms, first rubbing gentle circles into the back of her hands in what she hoped was a comforting sensation before continuing, her touch was like poetry against the skin. They stopped atop her shoulders, arms bent, hands feather-light atop her. 

“You can look at me as much as you want.” Junko added, her own voice dipping into a seductive tone, quiet, promising. She could feel Mikan’s warm breath against the base of her throat, the beat of her heart through her skin. The warmth radiating through it. Mikan looked confused but enraptured by the experience. Junko’s warm, vermillion lips on a collision course for her own. Her eyes started to flutter shut, but not out of nerves now. This time it seemed to be a wordless invitation to continue. And Junko didn’t stop. Right at the point of contact, Junko’s face slipped past Mikan’s to her ear. Her hands pushed on and wrapped around Mikan’s back, embracing the older girl against her, chest against chest. Hearts in communion. She could feel Mikan stiffen beneath her, but the Nurse’s hands found a natural resting place against Junko’s ribs, either side of her torso. She squeezed, as if for grounding, afraid she might fall away. “I like you, Mikan.”

“You…what…?” Mikan shuddered, like she had just returned from a cold winter’s day. Ironic, given the burning heat that she shared with Junko. She was obviously shocked, a dazed lilt to her voice. 

“I like you. And not in that _‘You’re my precious friend’_ bullshit tropey way. I want to kiss you. Ever since I saw you, I thought about how god-damn pretty I thought _you_ were. How fun it would be. How happy it would make me.” Mikan’s hands tightened on Junko’s sides, now in fits and bursts of shaking. “I know you hate how you look. I can see it. I don’t want you to be like that. I want to help.” Junko asserted. 

“Y-You…l-like m-me?” Mikan stammered, words hollow and falling from her lips, no projection to her voice at all. A husk of a tone. Not once had Mikan ever heard those words from another person, not with any sincerity. But here was Junko. Beautiful, gorgeous, world at her fingertips and she had purposefully pulled Mikan under her spell, only to tell her the power exclusively lied with her. That was something the Nurse couldn’t comprehend. Not in the slightest.

“I do. Every time I look or think about you, my chest starts getting tight…” Junko replied, earnestly. “I don’t want you to ever feel like anything I ask for is something you have to do. I don’t want that. I don’t want to hurt you. So…I’m not asking you to return my feelings.”

“But…!” If Junko didn’t know better, Mikan almost sounded defensive. She wished she could see the look on her face, to gauge what the emotion she was displaying was, but the tightness of her grip indicated she wasn’t offended by Junko’s proximity. If anything, she yearned for more. 

“I barely know you. Maybe I’m crazy, crazy enough to like a person after one meeting, but that’s how I feel. I want to get to know you more. I want to help you with how you feel about your looks. Because I think you’re really pretty. I’m good at things like that, maybe they’re the only things I’m good at. It’s part of my talent, so I can help you. I might be presuming, but you did say you liked how I looked. So, if I can help you think the same way about yourself, that will help, right? I want to be your friend, Mikan. I want to show you what I see.” 

Mikan paused, the silence an indication she was weighing Junko’s words, determining their value and honesty. Much as the anxiety bloomed in Junko’s wild chest as a result of it, she thought it would have been worse should Mikan have reacted immediately. A knee-jerk reaction would be concerning with Mikan’s history. “Y-You…w-want to be my friend?” Mikan sounded bewildered. 

Junko pushed back, receding from Mikan, who worried her lip. She looked like a child who had just been robbed of their toy. It was adorable to Junko, and she had to admit there was a selfish pang in her heart to return to their embrace. But her point had been made, and now they needed to engage as equals again on even ground, toes touching, but with a healthy distance between the rest of the odd pair.

“Totally!” Junko chimed. “I-I know I don’t know you well, but you’re seriously nice! And cool. I want to get to know you, Mikan. And if I can help you…looking good is all I have going for me. So, if you want…I don’t know, maybe I can give you a makeover? Not that you need one, mind, but they can be super fun!” Junko suggested.

“E-Enoshima J-Junko…wants to be my friend…?” Mikan’s voice was soft as ever, filled with disbelief, but there was a bright spark. A happiness at its depth. It was obviously a lot to take in, and Junko hadn’t expected a direct answer to come quickly. “Y-You’re not…j-joking, r-right?” Mikan looked about, wearily. “T-This isn’t a prank? A-And you’ll m-make s-somebody as…u-ugly as me l-look good?”

Junko defiantly shook her head. “No, this is 100% Junko guaranteed!” Junko gave Mikan two thumbs up. “And don’t call yourself ugly! Do you know how frickin’ adorable you are?” To punctuate her point, Junko smiled and leaned in to prod Mikan’s nose with the tip of her finger. “Adorable. Like. A. Button.” 

“T-Then…y-yes!” Mikan nodded her head energetically, face flushed, eyes bound shut like she was praying this wasn’t some dream that was too good to be true. “I-I-I’ll be your friend!”

Without another word they both pulled out their phones: Junko’s stylish, several keychains hanging from it, plushies and stickers slapped over it in an array of colours. Mikan’s was simple, no modifications or personal effects. Featurelessly sterile white, flanked by a gun-metal border.

They couldn’t have been different people if they had tried. Nothing about them seemed like it should have matched or fit together. But that was only the surface. If you peered past the curtain, they were two young girls. Two young girls who had each been dealt a rough start to life. The only meaningful difference had been Junko was lucky enough to have Mukuro beside her the entire way. Someone devoted to helping her. Making life easier for her. 

Junko wanted to give Mikan something like that. She wouldn’t be able to provide the same protection, the same general use as her older sister, but she could try to offer Mikan a friend who would support her. A friend who would show her exactly what she saw when she looked at Mikan: A beautiful person with a big heart who deserved to be appreciated. 

This was just the first step on a long road. She didn’t know where it would lead yet. It might go no further than this. It might take her to a place she could never imagine reaching, a lifetime full of memories and happiness that she probably didn’t deserve.

Junko wanted this no matter how it ended.

That was just how love at first sight was. A choking, corroding feeling that obliterated everything else and filled in the leftover hollow space with nothing but its own feeling. An all-encompassing phenomenon that couldn’t be ignored. 

Junko couldn’t think of a person she’d rather have this feeling for than Mikan. She promised herself there that she would be herself for Mikan. The best of herself for Mikan. She’d be honest, she’d be funny and witty and play the jester because she was good at it. She’d be selfish and self-indulgent. You could argue that’s all this was. A self-indulgent fantasy masquerading as a helpful act.  
Didn’t matter to Junko though. Because for all the truth that could be contained within that accusation, there was no lies about how she felt towards Mikan. The honest truth was she did want to make Mikan smile. That she did want to make her confident and see what everybody else did. The beauty that hid behind uneven purple curtains and ivory bandages. 

Junko was drunk on love. And Junko had always been awful at moderation and knowing when to stop. And she had no intention of learning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> I'm not going to lie, this is the chapter I've struggled the most with since starting this fic. It had to go through a rewrite or two, and even now I'm not completely satisfied. Like I said in the last chapter, it's hard to write Junko in character since I'm fundamentally changing her. Hopefully the justification is okay, and there's enough in the context I provide to explain why she is so different around Mikan. Everything else is a front, a pretence that people are comfortable with. The real Junko is pretty smothered by her own deception, and she's even a little self-conscious about it. But you can still find little sparks and instances of her in-game character. Hopefully, anyway. If not, I pray I make her enjoyable to be attached to. 
> 
> So yeah, Junko confessed, but it was sort of a halfway admission. Mikan knows Junko is romantically inclined, and that motivates her into wanting to provide a shoulder for Mikan. I think she would be struggling to drop that whole weight and responsibility onto Mikan all at once *and* demand an answer. Either Mikan would be pressured into saying yes, or she would break off all contact. This way she's ensuring there's no pretence, that Mikan has all the cards to play with, and understands where Junko is coming from. I think it will be far more meaningful for Mikan to be the one to bridge the gap when she's more confident in herself, and she's had time to think it over.
> 
> Also since people may notice the conflict with what Mukuro said about Junko and Mikan being on a "date", that's not a contradiction in the writing. She just jumped the gun a little, not knowing the complete context. It'll be explored in the future.
> 
> Next time: Harukawa Maki and Momota Kaito are probably the least dysfunctional couple in HPA, even if death threats are exchanged on the regular.


	8. "Compromise, of a sorts"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maki and Kaito spend some quality time together, ironing out their perspectives on issues past and current.

_**Calendar 1, October 12th…** _

_The girl in red._

_The girl stained in red._

_The girl in the shadow of death._

_The girl cloaked in dread._

_Be wary of the girl in red._

_Wherever she goes, all that waits is the dead._

Maki leaned on the railing of the platform that ran up from the parking lot of her dorm, around fifteen metres above ground. For such an unorthodoxly designed academy as Hope’s Peak, the Dorm’s were conservative in arrangement. Large square sections of faded red brick, packed layer on layer, from anywhere between three to four stories, every two floors dedicated to a single class. They were like a chain of motels- fair nicer, _certainly_ nowhere near as cheap- scattered all over the city. Detached from the Academy itself, but there were plenty of prearranged bus routes sponsored by the Academy itself that arrived at regular intervals. There was never an issue with getting about or with student safety. Every corner on every building had a CCTV camera scanning the whole premises to ensure any suspicious individuals would be caught on tape for the authorities, should it ever come to that.

Maki had already pinned their locations down, recognised the make and model and all the blind spots therein, and had followed the wiring to the generator that powered them. Whilst she had no direct evidence or testimony to suggest it, she was sure there would be a backup generator for emergencies. It wouldn’t be a simple cut and run job, you would have a very small window to get in and out.

This was all accumulated over weeks of her walks to and from the Dorms. Small, sharp, cute glances out the corner of her eye. Enough to deceive the uninitiated. Just like she had been trained. Leave nothing to reason. Explore, observe, catalogue your surroundings.

Maki had no job, no contract, no reason to. But it was a paranoid force of habit. Not something you abandoned after six months. Not even a lifetime would be enough.

The days were starting to get colder now, and she knew this would probably be one of the last times she and Kaito could watch the world pass by with the wind at their backs. She didn’t mind the cold so much. But few people were as accustom to the raw, unfettered elements of the world such as herself.

The sun wasn’t as visible as previous weeks. It was covered in a dense pack of clouds. The days were getting shorter too, light becoming a rare commodity for worldly excursions and adventures. Winter always had the effect of leaving Maki listless. Much like the day itself, Maki found her temperament grew darker, patience waning with the dying light. It had been a similar reaction when she lived in the orphanage. Winter corralled humans into tighter spaces, warmer places, people ventured less. There was simply less to do when the prospect of fun was offset with dying of hypothermia. But that wasn’t quite the same now. The outside was all Maki had when growing up to occupy the boredom with. Now she had a whole city as her playground. A school designed for her and people like her with near limitless possibilities and activities.

And she had friends. Friends who she didn’t have to act like a big sister towards. People who could take care of themselves. Well, _mostly_. They were still kids. At least, legally speaking. But everyone had their own strengths and didn’t lean on her like the kids at the orphanage had. They stood on the same level as herself and didn’t look up to her the same way, the same adorning eyes. Didn’t burden her with that look of wonder that meant if she failed, they would be left with nothing and no-one. Only heartbreak.

Maki was thankful for the 79th class. For as aggravating as everyone could be, the environment was better for her wellbeing. She found herself less on edge than she had been. She often joked with herself that she was losing the sharpness she had developed. Her merciless instinct. She was becoming…complacent. Of course, Maki knew such a thing could never happen. 

Maki still felt the itch in her wrist. An ingrained reminder of the gruelling training she had gone through to make her the tool of destruction she was. She knew as long as that itch remained, beneath the surface of her skin, she would never be like the rest of them.

For their sake, she kept the distance between them as _wide_ as she could. They wouldn’t want to get close to her if they knew the truth, but they would also be afraid. And it only takes one brave, stupid fool to think they could catch her with her back turned for their flame to be snuffed clean. As if it had never been there to begin with.

It wouldn’t have been the first either.

What a lonely existence it had been for Harukawa Maki.

That was, until Kaito had broken down the walls she had spent a lifetime constructing with a laugh, a smile and not even a hint of an apology. He had been so innocent in his foolishness that Maki couldn’t quite believe it even now. Most people would have been struck, choked, or chewed out by Maki as a riposte to maintain the distance and secure it, to double down and ensure the same idiotic decision wouldn’t be made again and Maki could sleep restlessly, but without the worry of somebody getting closer than need be. However, she could never get a word in edgewise with him. And when she did, curtly replying with a threat if he did it again, he hardly even flinched. In fact, he’d show how easily he saw right through the act. Hands on his hips, smile fading, brow knitting, he would tell Maki to “knock it off” and “just hang out with us already, you know you want to!”

The worst part was he had been right. For all her cold apathy, Maki wanted nothing more than to reach out for once. But that could never happen. Maki knew getting close to somebody was opening yourself up for pain down the line.

A cold, barren eternity of winter was easier to plan and survive than a burst of light and warmth for a short time, and then the quick and merciless cold swallowing everything wholesale.

Kaito couldn’t disagree more, and the first time he had heard her say that he had launched into a passionate diatribe about how it didn’t matter, that he knew people might hurt him, but he’d rather take a chance on somebody than not know. To never know if that person were somebody who would be with him on the journey of life forever or not. 

The two argued a lot. That had been the very basis on how their relationship came to be defined. Maki would snub any advances from their class to do extracurricular activities, attempt to detach herself from them, Kaito would come running with a fiery speech about whatever the issue at hand was and why Maki should join in, Maki would insult his intelligence, he would deny he had low intelligence, she would roll her eyes and leave, and Kaito would follow like a puppy until she _finally_ gave in and begrudgingly accepted his company. 

A _very annoying_ puppy, a very _loud_ and _obnoxious_ puppy. But a tolerable one all the same. 

Ironically enough, his attempts at driving Maki into the arms of the group only pulled him out of it. But in doing so Maki’s solitude was shattered and she was stuck with him, because hitting him felt _wrong_ for some reason. It was a compromise. Maki wasn’t alone, but Maki still refused to socialise with the rest. 

Maki felt as if the compromise somehow didn’t weigh in her favour at all, though. She was never a Master negotiator; her one trick was the threat of death and then either following through with it or staring a hole through whatever was annoying her until it turned tail and ran. 

Kaito backed up his passion with a respectable amount of perseverance under that glare. He seemed to have more of an issue with his intelligence being undermined than his life. 

Or Ghost Stories. He didn’t handle Ghost Stories well. But that was an amusing tale for another time…

Maki meant it though. He was an idiot. A hopeless idiot. She would wonder until her dying breath how he not only became an Astronaut in a country with no space program worth speaking of, but also the best astronaut in the world. Surely the position required some intelligence? Maki supposed that it spoke more to the standards of space exploration than it did Kaito’s competency, but it is what it is.

Soon two became three, Kaito had roped in the introverted Detective, Saihara Shuichi, into their small circle. She didn’t like it at the start, but out of everyone that could have been chosen Shuichi was the quietest, and the least intrusive. Ironic, given his status as the Second Ultimate Detective. That was a curious title, Maki thought, but it would open up a can of worms if she prodded into his own history. He would probably take it as a sign to do that with her own, so she allowed it to remain unchecked. 

Maki had grown to enjoy their nightly meetings. It mostly concerned exercise, and then Kaito would always bring something up to talk about. The boy didn’t stop. He always had something to say and something to laugh about. It grew easy to drop your guard around him. Fortunately, he was as stupid as he looked. He had no malice within him. He could be violent, if given the chance, but it was only ever in defence. So Maki had no issue with allowing him a little space, space he would abuse to cruelly worm his way into her heart and then _baulk_ at the assertion he had done so.

And before she knew it, she was telling him she liked him because he was too oblivious to ever notice it himself. He was probably too oblivious to pick up on his own feelings. He would have gone his entire life without realising the extent to which he cared about her. She was doing him a favour in a lot of ways.

But it was okay. He had already done a favour for her. Without him Maki would still be alone. He was the only person she could smile for and not feel like she was living a lie. 

Maki didn’t really know who she was. She had been walking through life without an identity. She didn’t really _like_ anything. She was sharp as a knife, blunt as a hammer. She knew a lot, could figure out a lot, had a forensic mind that picked everything apart to an atomic level of detail. But hobbies? Pastimes? Interests? Maki couldn’t put her finger on that pulse. Dead as corpse. But around Kaito, well, life was amber sweet. She could do something she found stupid, absurd, or ridiculous and so long as Kaito was there it wouldn’t matter. She’d eventually find herself being pulled in with him and that would be that. It wouldn’t be fun, she’d even admit that to his face, but he was fun. He was different to everyone else. An idiot with a heart of gold and a fire inside of him that shone brighter than any constellation.

She looked at him as they watched the open streets. The occasional car rumbled past at high speeds, a pedestrian or two would cross the street; briefcase in hand, groceries being routinely hefted with their grip began to fail. Some students trickled in and out depending on the time of day. It was a peaceful part of the world. A metropolitan harmony. 

Kaito was wearing what he always did. His white shirt with a red scrawl that looked like nothing, covered partially by his blazer that he bizarrely wore with only one arm passing through a sleeve, the other draped over his shoulder, kicking up with every gust of wind that was beginning to dig into their skin as the days wore on, light fading quicker and quicker. 

Kaito was odd like that. A peculiar fashion statement that was so _garish_ that Enoshima Junko had recoiled at the mere sight of him, bringing her fingers up in a cross as if to repel Satan himself. He only did it because he had the inner-lining custom designed. It was a black base with a white coating of celestial bodies made out of glitter so it could shine on even in the darkest of nights. Like a true star itself.

If Maki was a blackhole, ravenous, devouring life, Kaito was a supernova. Blazing. Bright. Brilliant. Loud and impossible to ignore. 

Quite the confusing couple. Hardly the only of its kind, however.

“What’s on your mind, Maki Roll?” Kaito asked, taking a sip from his coffee as he leaned on the railing with her. Ah yes, _the nickname_. He had dubbed her that name upon their first meeting. It was absurd. Stupid. A little insulting at how casually he had picked it out the air and settled on it without consideration for how she felt. Of course she insulted him, but that was the default anyway so he assumed that meant it was okay. 

Maki didn’t mind though. She had never been given a nickname before. Every time he did, she blushed, but she did well to hide it. Truth be told it had made her happy, over the moon, in fact. Not that she would ever tell him such. That secret would follow her to the grave she always had one foot in. 

“Nothing, really.” Maki stared ahead, debating whether she should lean her head on his shoulder now or later to shut him up, since she knew where he’d take the conversation. It was because he was Shuichi’s friend that it would end up in that direction anyway. She wanted to avoid the argument and just enjoy the routine of this shared moment. 

“You sure?” He asked, curiously. A smarter person would have either already called her out or known better to press on. Kaito was Kaito though. 

An idiot.

A loveable idiot.

Maki sighed. “Go ahead and ask your question.”

“Wow, straight to the point, eh Maki Roll?” Kaito beamed from the corner of Maki’s eye. She huffed amusedly back at him and rolled her eyes.

“You know me, Kaito.” Maki responded evenly. 

“…You still not talking to Kaede?” He asked. It had been a couple weeks since their flare up. Maki had hoped the issue was dead in the water, and things would go back to normal.

She should have known better, because Kaede was a sensitive girl, and Maki had penned her as such from the moment she saw all that rampant positivity. People like that tend to be _“Glass Cannons”_ as she termed it. People who were good at appraising people, an outgoing sort, but had shaky foundations that could be taken out with one well-placed comment. 

Now Kaede practically avoided her in their own dorm, ducking down halls she had no business going down just so they didn’t have to speak. If Kaede _did_ have something Maki needed to see, she would drop a number of @'s aimed at Maki in the group chat for their class, dump the info and then (Maki only had conjecture to go on for this, but it seemed to make the most sense) turn off notifications and silence her phone so she didn’t have to see the response. Which, of course, wasn’t helpful if Maki had a genuine question about something. Luckily, Shuichi was on hand as a go-between of sorts due to being the Vice Class Representative and also both Kaede and Maki’s friend. But it was still awkward. 

“We never talked to begin with, so it’s fair to say we never stopped.” Maki deflected.

“C’mon, Maki. Don’t give me that…” Kaito almost sounded disappointed, like a guy who had just been rejected by their crush. 

“Do you want to die?” Maki asked, but it was half-hearted and bore none of her usual edge.

“Not if I can help it!” Kaito grinned wide, a man far too used to threats of fatalities being forced upon him, lack of force behind them or no.

“What do you want me to say? That I feel bad for her?”

“Maki-” 

“Because I don’t.” Maki bared her teeth at the open range they were sharing together. “She’s…pushy. Bossy. She thinks the whole world can be changed with attitude and platitude alone, she has no real-life experience and has never suffered or wanted for anything. I don’t like her. We come from two completely different world that are incompatible. She doesn’t have any boundaries and she’s _ballistically_ obtuse.” 

“Yeah, well…some people you know might also be called that.” He nudged her and her anger dissipated on the spot. 

“You’re…different.” Maki admitted with a blush.

“How? Pretty sure I pestered you in the same way, didn’t I? Look how well that turned out!” Always the optimist was that Kaito of hers. She shook her head.

“It’s not the same, you know that…” Maki drew a hand through one of her long pigtails. 

“How? What’s the difference between me and Kaede?” Kaito asked, chewing the inside of his mouth.

“Unlike her, you’re an idiot.” Maki teased.

“Hey! I am not-” He didn’t get to finish before she continued.

“I knew from the start you were just a boy whose heart was bigger than his brain.” He relaxed at that, even started smiling again. Really, she was just calling him stupid once more, but in a nicer way. “You had no reason to care about me. No incentive. But she…she’s got a position. It reflects on her well if we all get along. It’s like a performance review. You know she has to have official meetings with faculty, right?”

“Well, yeah…” Kaito rubbed at the back of his neck. “I still don’t get it though.”

Maki sighed. “How can I trust her? I don’t trust in general, Kaito. I’ve barely told Shuichi anything about who I am. How do I know she’s not just using me to look good? As far as I care she’s just doing it out of obligation. It’s the position. If she didn’t have it, she wouldn’t even try to get close to me. She might stab me in the back the first chance she gets. I wouldn’t even blame her.”

“And what makes me so different?” Kaito asked, still not getting it. Maki thought it best to lean on him then, pushing into his personal space to nuzzle into the bend of his shoulder. Her hand ran down the inside of his arm and squeezed his wrist, drawing small circles at the base. He recognised the signal immediately, opening up his palm for her to snake her hand inside and intertwine their fingers.

“You’re genuine. And I trust you.” Maki whispered.

Kaito reciprocated Maki’s advances, leaning his head atop her own and squeezing her own hand back. His was so much bigger. Stronger. Dwarfing her own. But he was so gentle. The big lummox he was. He shared that trait with Gonta. Big. Powerful. Soft as they come. Maki felt uncharacteristically honest and safe with him there. She had started to forget about the world that had left her with nothing, thrown her into the shadows, and told her to take life after life just to keep her loved ones fed. Only for them to be ripped from her arms as they found new families.

And she had been alone. Her only cold comfort being that she had given them a life worth living. Whilst hers was stuck wading through graves.

Kaito had changed that. 

“You trust me, huh?” Kaito’s voice had some cheek to it, and the moment of respite and harmony was about to come to an abrupt end, Maki was certain of it. 

“Yes…” Maki pressed her eyes shut tight. Praying for Kaito to not say what she knew he would.

“Then…trust me when I say this that Kaede’s a good friend!” Kaito went to slam both his fists together, only to forget he was holding Maki’s hand, and settled for shooting her a thumb’s up. “After all, who do you think she came to for advice on dealing with you?”

Maki paused, and looked at him with narrowed eyes. “You… _what_.” Maki asked, a deadly crimson hue burning across her eyes.

“I…uh…uh-oh…” Kaito smiled nervously. “W-Wait a sec, Maki Roll, I-I just told her y-you were a good person, and she should…uh…not feel disheartened if…you don’t say “yes” immediately…” Kaito’s dumb, sweet smile defused Maki of the building storm of anger within her. She didn’t have the energy this early in the morning, and she never had the energy to be genuinely angry with him. She fell forwards, pressing her face into his chest and groaned away her frustrations.

“You’re such an idiot!” Maki’s words came out muffled against him, but Kaito was smart enough not to take it to heart, encircling her with his arms in a comforting embrace.

“Hey, you’re the one who _fell_ for the idiot.” He chuckled.

Maki chuckled back, dryly. “Sorry, I have a thing for men who put way too much product into their hair that it seeps into their brain.”

“Ouch, low blow, Maki Roll. You know my hair and facial hair gives me that suave celebrity vibe!” Kaito said defensively, but there’s a hint of playfulness behind his words.

“You could…uh…try with me? Make us even…” Maki mumbled, eyes flitting away as crimson-scarlet crept around her features.

“…Huh?” Kaito asked, voice genuine with sheer befuddlement.

“Make…that kind of joke I did, but about me.” Maki shrugged, finding her fingers digging into his jacket, creasing it under the lock and key grasp of Maki’s fingers, knuckles’ bleeding white.

“You…want me to tease you?” Kaito asked. “I fully expect you to ask me if I want to die as soon as I do, by the way.” Maki laughed at that, full of joy that Kaito smiled brightly at.

“I promise I won’t.” Maki said between breaths.

“Well, uh…here goes nothing…” Kaito said nervously. “O-Oh yeah? Well, I have a thing for…girls who fall for idiots?”

“Was that honestly your best? It wasn’t exactly cutting. Come on, Kaito, you can do better than that.” Maki rolled her eyes.

“Depends, who’s stupider: The guy who’s an out and out idiot- according to you, not my words- or the girl who fell for him and puts up with him each and every day willingly?” 

“Are _you_ calling _me_ an _idiot_? Do you want to d-” Maki paused, eyes widening, jaw clenching and she huffed an embarrassed sigh when her face melted away into the tinniest, almost imperceptible of pouts. “Sorry.”

“We seriously need a swear jar for you, but for threatening people with death.” Kaito suggested light-heartedly. He brought his arm across her shoulders so his hand could squeeze at the furthest one, once again the two of them watching the concrete landscape before them.

“Sure, right after you get an _actual_ swear jar for Miu. And a _“Gosh darn it, I lost my hair clip again!”_ jar for Kaede.” Maki retorted, finally separating from Kaito’s embrace to lean on the bannister again, a smile against her lips.

“Speaking of which…” Kaito started, trying to act as sly as he could at broaching the topic, failing spectacularly at it since it was obvious what he wanted to talk about. Maki pressed her eyes shut tight, already feeling a migraine poke at the borders of her eyes. He really was going to keep pushing until he got his way, and Maki would concede somewhere, in some form, even if it was just another _“compromise”_ like always. 

Maki knew somewhere she was probably being unreasonable about it. She didn’t desire a bellicose relationship with Kaede, far from it, preferably they would be decidedly neutral and distant like she was with Kirumi. Politeness would come into play, of course, they shared the same living space and classes so of course it wasn’t beyond Maki to be courteous and even somewhat neighbourly. In the past when Kaede needed a helping hand with a project or some basic innkeeping, Maki was content to lend a hand so long as conversation was procedural and minimal. Failing that, it should remain on topic with absolutely _no tangents_. Something Kaede wasn’t known for, so perhaps that was naivety or ignorance on Maki’s part to expect it.

Nevertheless, confrontation necessitated engagement that wasted Maki’s time. On second thought, Maki would probably prefer that. Maybe not with Kaede, because the pianist would run off in tears because she’s the _Glass fucking Cannon_ of the group and it always made Maki out to be the bad guy.

Which she was, and she knew it, hence why she _wanted_ to be left alone and not cause people problems. She wasn’t suited to groups. She wasn’t a “people person” like Kaede was. They were dissonant. 

But at the very least if they _did_ engage in heated debate and insults, it wouldn’t be as fucking _awkward_ as it was now. Nobody spoke up, everybody avoided the topic, because they knew better than to get on Maki’s bad side, but that just fostered resentment and hoisted the problem onto others. Like right now. Kaito only raised this topic because Kaede and Maki couldn’t work it out between them.

And that was pathetic. It made Maki angrier with herself than Kaede, it was embarrassing. She wasn’t a small child. Maki _dealt_ with small children, she _disciplined_ small children. To fall into the same habits she tried to productively work out of them was deeply aggravating for the faux-Ultimate. 

“Look, I know how you feel, okay? I don’t want to make you do anything, Maki Roll. That’s not how you…roll…” Kaito paused, and Maki snorted amusedly at how the nicknamed worked surprisingly well, for once.

“That’s not how I Maki _Roll_ …” Maki uncharacteristically joked, causing Kaito to laugh earnestly, having not expected that. He took a moment to recompose himself, continuing where he last left off.

“Anyway, don’t feel like you have to. But Shuichi has been Kaede’s friend since they were six. Give her a chance, okay? If Shuichi trusts her, and I trust her, you can trust her!”

“Trusting somebody in her position is impossible for me, Kaito…” Maki shrugged.

“The impossible is possible, Maki Roll! You just gotta make it so!” Kaito argued with bulletproof optimism. The Luminary of the Stars so bright, Maki felt herself grimacing. 

“I can’t just trust her off the bat.” Maki began, taking a breath. “But I will give her a chance. One. If she screws up, I’m not trying again. If you believe in her so much, she’ll only need that. Right?”

“You’re damn right!” Kaito confirmed. 

“Then…I’ll…make an effort, I guess.” Maki loosely played with a pigtail, brushing it behind her shoulder. “You’re seriously the worst influence here.”

“Hey! What about Kokichi?!” Kaito sounded offended, but it was his _dramatic_ offence that was more defensive than angry, like he had a point to prove and he would compensate for competence with aggressive self-belief.

“Everybody knows not to listen to him. Even Shuichi knows half the time his confessions of love are only to manipulate him into doing something mischievous.” Kaito appeared to accept that but waited for the follow up Maki no doubt was intending to deliver. Something clearly came to mind, a twitch out the corner of his mouth catching Maki’s attention. Tension already robbed, she saw no reason to deny him further comment, and gestured away. 

“Speaking of, we need a _“Shumai, I need your help my beloved Detective, please, I beg of you, I will seriously die if you don’t!”_ jar for him as well.” Kaito added, drawing a smirk from Maki.

“True. Followed by a jar for Shuichi falling for it _yet again_.” Maki agreed. “Anyway. You, on the other hand, are harmless on the surface. Nobody thinks listening to you will end up affecting them in anyway. Myself included.” Maki admitted. “And look what you’ve turned me into. Willing to go along with whatever you suggest, even with my own reservations.” There’s faux outrage in Maki’s accusation, nothing truly damning.

“Well, if you ask me, I think it’s made you into a pretty awesome person, Maki Roll. I mean, you were already awesome before, but now you shine brighter than Sirius A.” Kaito leaned in so she could see his smile, and it plucked a larger smile out of her lips. Breaking her cold composure. Usually, Maki would be reticent to be so open with him like this, to express herself where anybody could see them. But he did have a little suave in him, she supposed.

Only a little.

“Yeah…?” She whispered, leaning closer. “You think so?”

Kaito reached her lips with his own, pulling her into a chaste kiss. “I may be an idiot, but I think I’m right on this one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed.
> 
> Okay, a little PSA before I go into my diatribe like always: My laptop is giving me grief (screen issues) which mainly happens when I'm typing. It's making writing a lot slower and more frustrating since I keep losing my place to restart it. My desktop doesn't offer me the same leg space so it's not really an option when I'm writing anywhere between 5000-10,000 long chapters. As such, I think I'll pause updating until I get my new laptop for Christmas. A very short hiatus. It'll give me time to work on the next few chapters and get them in the bank too. The next is sitting at 9000 words and I still have like 3-4 more segments to go. So...probably expecting 13,000 words for that. 
> 
> Anyway, this was entirely dedicated to Maki. We get to see her perspective on Kaede and the confrontation they had. Maki isn't malicious, but she's acutely aware she and Kaede are probably the most contrasting two students out of their group. Whilst it's only implied here, she's a paid assassin who came from the dirt, from nothing, and Kaede has had a nice, cushy life. Maki thinks of herself as a timebomb, always about to go off and hurt people who get too close, and Kaede wants nothing more than to foster closer relationships. Her positions and methods rub Maki the wrong way, activate that defence mechanism and paranoid mentality from being a paid killer, and she resorts to intimidation and cruelty to get that comfortable distance back. Kaito only got as far as he did, force a gap in her defences, because of that lack of official position as "Class Rep" that Kaede had. Same with Shuichi. Maki's slow to trust and is sceptical about everyone and everything. 
> 
> Kaito's just a good egg. He cares, he cares a lot, and only wants to help. But unlike Kaede he knows when to put the brakes on and when to hit the gas with Maki. He's both supportive and encouraging without being forceful, which is Kaede's biggest flaw (both in game and in this universe). Their dynamic was very fun to write. Maki's trying to limit her cutting comments, and she's genuinely having fun being in Kaito's presence. She's slowly being eked out of her shell. Time will tell if that will allow her and Kaede to make amends or not. 
> 
> Next time: Kaede's stressed, and lying in her room all day isn't going to make anything better. Fortunately, Miu _just_ came up with the perfect invention to make everything better.


	9. Akamatsu Kaede in C Minor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Class 79 is nothing but Chaos incarnate. Kaede feels as if all of that burden is placed squarely onto her. So she needs an escape from it all.
> 
> Fortunately, Iruma Miu is on hand to fix what ails ya.

**_Calendar 1, October 13th…_ **

Kaede only ever had one way of dealing with her stress. Strictly speaking that wasn’t true, but there was one constructive way and it always did the trick. 

For the record, Kaede did _not_ think the other method- crying her eyes out until her throat was sore and her pillow needed changing- was something that should be recommended to any emotional young women out there. If only because Egyptian cotton was _“expensive as Heck”_ in her own words. 

Kaede would also warn against that _especially_ if you were known to use foundation or mascara on a regular basis, only because you would leave an imprint of Cassandra from ‘Doctor Who’ where your face used to be, but that’s neither here nor there.

And no, even if Miu would insist on the contrary, Kaede’s family were not rich enough to be throwing money away for Egyptian cotton. Kaede had been bought one- _“Count it Miu, one!”_ \- Egyptian cotton pillow and pillowcase as a gag gift for her fourteenth birthday. Kaede could already hear her internalised Miu laughing at that phrasing, giving her a seductive wink, and talking about how _Kaede_ just loved _gagging_. It meant no matter where Kaede went, she could always take a part of her girlfriend with her, ready to make her smile when she least wanted it to through her inappropriate humour that Kaede wouldn’t be caught dead mimicking, nor even quoting without heavy redactions and censorship- thus blunting it of any of its usual comedic blunt force trauma (a term that Kaede felt particularly accurate when describing Miu’s humour, but she would only ever get called a “nerd” for it by Miu. Something rather ironic, coming from the self-described _Gorgeous Girl Genius_ , but Kaede would let that slide.)- but she would certainly laugh at it. 

_‘If I ever take her to meet Mama and Papa, she’s going to have to be put on a short leash-”_

Ah, yes, there was a bondage joke there. Kaede would have to think of a better analogy, otherwise she was just providing Miu with more ammunition. Miu already had a whole barracks worth locked down in that Fort Knox of a brain of hers, Kaede could do without more innuendos in her life if she could help it.

Kaede’s go-to method of stress relief was playing the piano. It was constructive, cathartic and allowed her to maintain her skill as the Ultimate Pianist. She could choose any song, thick with emotion or as light as the breeze, and even if she still felt like crying afterwards, she at least knew she had achieved something. That even if she felt down on her luck there was the voice of god transcribed into the song of the piano, living in the vibrations of the piano string, wrapping the air in an atmosphere drenched with meaning and beauty. She could feel proud of herself. In all the fields of the world, for all the talent and hard work of the numerous individuals whose deft movements of their fingertips along the ebony and ivory of a keyboard brought happiness to the crowd, she was the best. For all the bad, that was hers and had always been hers. 

Now she didn’t have that. The stress and the angst and the anxiety was building inside of her. There was a lump in her chest, heavy like a stone lodged within. 

Worst of all was the lethargy. Kaede had always been a proactive person, for a lot of reasons, but regardless of them she always had to give her all and there was no putting off of an important task until later, she always had to tackle things as they came. Kaede believed if you ignored something, it only ever got worse and if it just so happened to dissipate then that was happenstance and good fortune, and you could never rely on those as solutions to your problems. Yourself, on the other hand, you _could_ trust. Nobody better for understanding the root of it all, and what you wanted to do about it, than yourself. That mantra rang a little hollow now that Kaede found herself slumped on her bed, eyes vacantly staring at the lilac wallpaper of her ceiling, arm draped over her forehead, with an impending sense of failure at nothing in particular. 

She knew as soon as she tried again, she would make those _hideous_ sounds emit from the piano again. It was cruel. Not to her, although that was a given, she supposed, but to the piano and the person who she had always played for. But that didn't bear thinking about, not now, or Kaede might _break_ again. The piano was an ancient beast, like a tamed dragon, an instrument that had seen countless centuries pass; empires fall; societies collapse and reform; artists of all stripes and shades fuse together and impart their will and message upon the crowds who watched through it. It didn’t deserve the disservice of being forced to garble out her mangled mess of a composition. Sometimes the thought of the beast coming to life and swallowing her with an imposing gulp, cover crashing down over her and reducing her to paste, was a fate befit her for insulting it like she had. 

Kaede knew she was being over dramatic, it was just an instrument, and this was just a momentary side-effect of her stress getting the better of her, but she couldn’t help her imagination run wild. She always had an over-active imagination ever since she was small. It got the better of her. Made her jump to ludicrous conclusions and then a stupid decision would always be made that did her harm and rewarded her with a well-deserved scolding by a parent, a teacher, or a concerned member of society. 

_Don’t be so reckless._

_Think more before you act._

_You’ll hurt yourself, one day._

_Your sister is bad enough, don't give your parents another reason to worry._

Always the same sentiment, always inarguably correct. Kaede could be her own worst enemy. Easily predictable, but when you couldn’t see it in front of yourself, when you thought the best of yourself (in a humble way) and the world, you were blind to that optimism and in the moment nothing but _it_ felt right to do. There was only one answer and it was a blunt and honest forward charge. Kaede lived with her heart on her sleeve, and that heart was an open book that had been open and closed, fingers trawling through it, thousands of times already. 

You could read the same story with Kaede and it was shocking no matter how many iterations there were how it always ended the same way. The girl meant only the best. The girl was burnt by her own fire. The girl would feel sorry for herself. The girl would do it over again. The girl would never learn because she was too stubborn for that. Iron will and tempered flame for blood.

Kaede wasn’t an idiot. Miu could attest to that, obvious bias aside. There was a lot to admire about Kaede’s positivity and if she slowed down and thought about things, there was an astute mind as well. She always scored in the top 10 percentile at school. Not ever a genius, not like Miu, but she was somebody most people would set as their bar for “achievement”. But simply passing tests and impressing teachers didn’t make you street smart. Or shrewd in the game of life. Kaede supposed hindsight was twenty-twenty. Beating herself up over her own mistakes, as common as they could be, wasn’t a solution. 

For all that was worth though, Kaede didn’t have a clue what she should do. Kaede believed strongly in putting your best foot forward, facing the day with resolve and a can-do attitude. But usually that philosophy was prefaced by the notion Kaede had an idea what to do. There was usually something tangible in mind, something she could put her hands on or work with. Not in the same way Miu would mean it, but the sentiment was similar. She usually painted an image in her head- something ideal and bright and dreamlike. Something fantastical like a Disney movie come to life. A pipedream she was sure she could make reality. Life to Kaede was a series of notes. You order them right, set them up, allow them to breathe for the appropriate amount of time and then move onto the next, always flowing and always with purpose aimed at a greater whole. 

Now those notes were rotting from the inside and Kaede had no idea what to do about it. The more she tried to hold it together the quicker she felt them falling apart. Cliched, she knew, but cliches were often overused for good reason. They spoke to an undeniable truth. Reality given vocal form.

Words were originally designed to try and reflect perception. A rough estimate of the material, an immaterial variant of it. Music was much in the same way, a rough estimation of beauty and emotion. Kaede always found music was better at achieving its goal than words. Music touched everything; music purveyed even the most cynical of souls with wonder. But now she truly wanted nothing but words to explain to her how to fix her despondent soul. 

It might have been difficult to understand for many. That’s only because most Ultimate’s were inherent prodigies. Before they could even walk or talk, their skill was a part of them. Kaede wasn’t like that. Kaede only reached her pinnacle through graft. Through toil and struggle. Kaede always had an affinity for piano, but skill had only come with time. She always pushed herself: _“Learn something harder, do it better, make it sound more wonderful than before. Don’t be satisfied with now, make the next one feel like a whole new, better song.”_ But above all it was _her_ smile that she did it for. Worked harder for it to stay just as prominent. Miu? No, to everybody's surprise, it wasn't Miu she was thinking of. Somebody much closer to her own heart. 

If Kaede couldn’t devote herself to her one and only true passion, then it would crumble like sand at tide. She would be washed away into one of the many forgotten grains of time. Another composer nobody would care about. No more smiles. 

Kaede was allowing herself to be pulled under again. The weight around her throat and in her chest was being fed by her own self-doubt. Kaede rubbed at her eyes with the base of her palms, groaning as she tried to stave off the frustrated tears. She couldn’t stand being upset. Especially when she was the source of her own sorrow. But Kaede wasn’t the type to take anything lying down. She may not have had the answer to fix everything, but at times like this there was one option that could make her feel better. One thing that alleviated some of the darkness.

Hanging out with her girlfriend, of course.

Kaede pulled over her phone and clicked it unlocked. No unread messages, so that meant Miu was either busy or affording her space, waiting until Kaede was more open to discussion, on her own terms. The clock already read three-thirty in the afternoon. She had been lazily sulking in the dark- curtains drawn- for almost five hours now. 

“Geez, that’s enough feeling sorry for myself…” Kaede sat up and clicked her neck, latticing her fingers together and stretching her arms above her head with a little whine. She slipped on her comfiest pair of pink Miu-faced slippers (something Miu had gifted Kaede for their one-month anniversary, Chibi-styled and adorable just like Miu. _Her eyes even lit up in the dark!_ ), pocketed her phone in her skirt, and finally opened the door of her room.

Kaede had no wish to govern her classmates whatsoever today. She was low on energy and had already missed a meal. She thought that maybe she could drag Miu out for a late lunch, assuming she was still in the general area, of course. She’d pop her head into the common room, offer her services in case anybody was in desperate need for a class representative at this hour, but she wasn’t sticking around for anything beyond the novel or the dire. 

The dormitory was straightforward in its design, but not without its novelties. The walls and flooring were a pale balsa wood, regularly kept to such a rigorous shining standard that your distorted reflection would surface by your feet if you looked down. Kirumi was always adamant the cleanliness was _literally_ good enough to eat off, although she would much prefer it if people avoided that since it just left her with more cleaning. Table manners of their fellow students aside, the bright shine and glimmer of the walls gave the dormitory a relaxing atmosphere. Uplifting on bad days, pleasant on good days, subdued enough it never became overbearing or blinding. The walls were mostly bare, sans for a single picture of a flower vase painted by some obscure 18th century European artist that Angie _insisted_ be used as the sole decoration on the wall adjacent to Kaede’s own room. Kaede didn’t know if that was a slight, or a compliment, or a coincidence, but she hedged her bets it was at least somewhat orchestrated to make a point. She just wasn’t sure what. But Angie was hard to read, at the best of times. They all were, in honesty. 

Moreover, there were two branching paths, asymmetrically placed further down the hall from each-other. One darted into yet another hallway that led to a fire exit, along with a laundry room halfway down on the left, and an open archway closer to the main entrance that steered into the common room. At the end of the hall, opposite to the main entrance, was the stairs that continued up to the second floor. As there were sixteen students, they were divided into eight rooms on either floor. Kaede was located on the first floor, as was Miu, her destination for today. She sunk her key into the divide in the lock, and twisted it in place to secure her room from any potential Ne'er-do-wells and the like. 

Not ten seconds after Kaede had clicked the lock of her dorm room shut did she hear the pounding footsteps from upstairs approach her, Yonaga Angie leaping down several flights of stairs without any concern for her safety, landing in such a way that would impress Akane from the 77th class, breaking out into a cartwheel and her trademark rapturous laughter following her blurred visage. 

“What the…” Kaede began, but soon a white and purple flash was in hot pursuit.

“Hi there, class rep! How are you doing?” Kokichi cried as she paused in his sprint to greet Kaede.

“Kokichi, what are you…” Kaede’s features creased together. She was inherently distrusting of Kokichi. Not because he was a bad person, her best friend- Shuichi- wouldn’t be dating him if that were the case, and he had shown to be helpful and wise beyond his appearance and years when somebody truly required it. But he was unpredictable, a pathological liar, a game of Russian Roulette made boy. He could switch on a dime when it came to being genuinely helpful or pranking you just for a cheap laugh.

No wonder everyone treated him like he was Junko’s long-lost younger brother. 

“Can’t stop for small talk! I’m chasing the Evangelical! Want to join me?” Kokichi interrupted and Angie bellied out another raucous laugh. 

“Yahahahaha! You’ll never catch me; Atua has blessed me with a swift foot today! Bye-Onara!” She said, taking off into another surprisingly pacey burst of feet, made all the more impressive by the fact it was performed in sandals. Maybe her claims of being divinely touched were somewhat accurate. Or she was an even better liar than Kokichi. 

“Quit using both English and Japanese! I find it highly offensive!” Kokichi complained.

“What’s your problem with her doing that?” Kaede asked, crossing her arms just under her chest, pensively. 

“I could explain, but you’d all moan at me for breaking the fourth wall again.” The hairs on Kaede’s neck stood up, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Tsumugi appeared from out of nowhere, now standing next to both Kokichi and Kaede, watching much as Kaede did with curious amusement. Maybe she was so plain, like she said, she had been there the entire time, and nobody took any notice. Kaede thought that if Tsumugi wanted to, she could stand in a room and people would mistake her for furniture. Not Kaede, of course, because she liked Tsumugi and had even gone so far as to flirt with her a little when they first met. 

She was a fairly nice person, when she wasn’t pretending to shatter the fourth wall. 

At least, Kaede _hoped_ it was invented, and not some legitimate form of mental illness.

“You can’t do that, we’re not some fictional characters you can play with because you’re bored and you’ve already read the script. You’ve just browsed TV Tropes one too many times and thought you saw the face of god.” Kokichi retorted.

“What.” Kaede blinked rapidly.

“Long story.” Kokichi said with an aloof tone, raising his hand to inspect his nails. 

“Fine, don’t blame me when you get plain sucked into a parallel dimension in the sequel because you didn’t listen to me.” The cosplayer shrugged.

“She…that can’t happen, right?” Kaede asked, tentatively, turning to Kokichi.

“Don’t encourage her, she’s just pulling your leg.” The diminutive Supreme Leader said breezily.

“Guilty.” Tsumugi admitted, bringing up both palms in surrender. “Or maybe I’m not…” She smirked, devilishly. Kokichi pouted his response, placing his hands on his hips and pushing his chest out.

“Hey, deception and lies are my shtick! That’s gimmick infringement I’ll have you know! You’ll be hearing from my ten high-priced lawyers!” Kokichi’s tone betrayed the threat, faked in an obvious bluff that Tsumugi did well to ignore.

“Geez, you guys…” Kaede said, exasperatedly. “So, what is this about?” Kaede sighed as she tried to get them back on track, pinching the bridge of her nose and waving her hand into the space between Kokichi and Angie. She didn’t have the time or patience for this, but her sense of responsibility for the class told her that she may need to nip this in the bud. 

“Bye-Onara!” Angie teased at Kokichi, cupping her hand to her mouth.

“She stole my blood!” Kokichi explained with a scowl, before he started shaking his fist at the Polynesian girl. “Stop fusing the English and Japanese languages like that! It’s impractical, I say! Impractical!”.

“…She stole your blood?” Kaede asked, remarkably calm. She had given up pretending to expect anything mundane from her class at this point. She was resigned to her fate of being best friends with an eccentric bunch. Nothing much phased her now. It didn’t help she was already exhausted from their antics, wanting to expedite this process as quickly as she could.

“No worries, Kaede!” Angie called from down the hall. “Atua only wanted it for a small blood ritual! It was only a tiny drop!”

“Well, that’s plainly concerning.” Tsumugi said. “Atua won’t curse us, or anything, will he? You _did_ say blood ritual after all, I’ve seen a lot in Anime and they always end summoning a horrible demon or reducing one of the Casters’ into a suit of Armour…” 

“C-C-CURSE?!” Kaito shouted from what sounded like the Common room, quickly being followed up by a hasty Shuichi trying to calm him down. Kaede knew he was sensitive to the supernatural, finding it particularly scary, but this was becoming farcical.

In fairness, the whole situation was farcical. Some rejected slapstick Benny Hill sketch gone horribly wrong.

“Nyahahahahah! Of course not, Tsumugi, this is simply to bring us all closer to his divine presence! By the end of today, Kokichi will throw off the shackles of agnosticism and experience a revelation! Feel free for either of you two donate just as Kokichi did!” Angie informed the two girls flanking the Supreme Leader. Kaede didn’t like needles, and whilst she respected Angie’s culture and theological beliefs, she wasn’t about to indulge any _bloodletting_. 

“I didn’t donate shit! You pricked me when I wasn’t looking!” Kokichi snapped.

“I remember Shuichi saying you let him do something _similar!_ ” Angie responded, bringing blushes at the obvious innuendo- one that probably would have made Miu cry with laughter- to everyone’s faces. Apart from Angie, of course.

“ _Oooooh!_ You just made yourself an enemy for life, Yonaga! Get over here so I can Martyr you!” 

“You may kill Angie, but Atua lives forever!” 

“That’s enough!” Kaede raised her face, throwing her fists down by her side. Her voice was uncharacteristically sharp, and impatient. Words cutting through the two of them and reducing the whole dorm to silence. Silent shivers rolled down them all, terrified by the surprising intimidation Kaede was not known for. “Angie! It’s not nice to take people’s blood without consent. Give it back to Kokichi or throw it away. And Kokichi,” Kaede turned to personally address the boy. “Do not threaten to Martyr somebody! Violence is _never_ the answer! Especially when invoking their spirituality!” Kaede already seemed to have them under her spell. Good, some days it could be hard to generate the proper authority needed to make everyone fall in line. Too many disparate personalities that required a different approach that a singular method wouldn’t usually work. Kaede also wasn’t usually this aggressive, and would try to be more diplomatic, but she was already so done with everything. She just wanted this over, and she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Y-Yeah…” Tsumugi offered her nervous support. “F-Friends shouldn’t threaten or steal from each-other. Especially their…blood…ugh…” Tsumugi paled at the idea.

“Atua…agrees, actually. Kaede is right, stolen blood is tainted and would only anger Atua.” Angie sheepishly approached Kokichi and presented him with the vial of blood. It was as Angie said, the vial couldn’t contain more than a few small droplets, barely visible to the naked eye. “I apologise, Kokichi. It was wrong of me to take something from you.”

Kokichi shrugged, looking a little embarrassed at the apology. Kaede couldn’t tell if it was for Angie’s sake since she had just gotten yelled at or his own, because it felt like a childish formality they all should have outgrown.

“It’s fine. Chasing you was fun though. I wasn’t even mad; it was a lie. I knew you were there, but I was so _bored_ I thought I would hedge my bets and hope what you were doing was interesting.” Kokichi admitted and took the vial that was offered to him, slipping it inside one of his many pockets. Of course that had been it, the whole thing was one of Kokichi's many games he played without informing everyone of the rules. An unfair game if there was one, and Kaede probably should have known better, but she was too tired and apathetic to lecture him out a second time.

“Nyahahaha! Well, if you change your mind about the blood, Atua’s rituals will not leave you bored. They are a cleansing and exciting experience!” Angie proclaimed, full of her typical charisma and rhetoric that bounced off the walls like a bullet.

“Hmm…nah, I’ve been in my own fair share of cults already. But thanks though! Oh! You can join my pyramid scheme!” Kokichi countered, leaning forwards starry eyed. 

“Kokichi, Pyramid schemes don’t work if you tell somebody that’s what they are.” Tsumugi said.

“Well _duhhhhh_ , I was lying, Tsumugi.” Kokichi drawled. 

“I think the most concerning part is that you’ve been in a cult before.” Kaede rested a hand on the top of her hand, lightly massaging her scalp to try and melt some of the worries away that were plaguing her. 

“That’s because I’m an international super spy who infiltrates cults and tears them apart from the inside! That’s what I’m doing here, Kaede, I’ve been assigned to bring an end to your sect!” Kokichi asserted, pointing accusingly at the Pianist.

“M-Me?! W-Why me?!” Kaede panicked, flinching away from Kokichi’s brandished finger, glinting like a blade.

“Don’t play dumb with me, that’s exactly what a cult leader _would_ say! Where are you hiding the Medallion of Machu Picchu?! I know you stole it for your evil cannibalistic rituals!” 

“C-Cannibalism?!” Tsumugi shrieked. “Kaede, how could you?! I’m too plain for a human sacrifice!” 

“I-I didn’t do anything! Kokichi is lying!” As soon Kaede had finished her sentence, something clicked inside of her head. Like the parting of a storm, everything became clear in that moment. Something within Kokichi’s previous statements contradicted each-other. Kaede couldn’t quite explain it, it was like the words wrapped and shot around her head, each point sticking as to how she could respond. Her words, now like bullets, isolated the integral contradiction at the heart of Kokichi’s argument. She had him. “No, that’s wrong! Kokichi, if what you’re saying is true, then why did you turn down the chance to investigate Angie’s cult?!” 

“Uh…Kaede? I was lying, obviously. It was for a joke. Don’t give me the third degree over something like that. What do you think this is, a trial by our classmates?” Kokichi responded with an unaffected neutrality.

“How could it be a class trial? There’s only four of us.” Tsumugi pointed out.

“Ah, yeah. I guess you’re right. Silly me, forget about that then.” Kokichi threw his arms behind his head in a wide grin, dropping that issue like it might set him ablaze. Kaede could already begin to feel her head pulsing, a migraine encroaching on her from this interaction and she had barely gotten out the door of her room. She did not have the energy to contest with the anarchy her friends inspired. 

“Geez, I am _so_ not in the mood for this today.” Kaede groaned, pressing her palm across her eyes, trying to shield herself from the world in some vain hope it might spirit everyone away and leave her in tranquillity for _just_ a moment. 

“Oh? What’s wrong, Kaede? Confess your worries to Atua, so he might cleanse your mind of them!” Angie offered. 

“Yeah, something wrong, Class Rep?” Kokichi asked, a hint of concern twitching across his brow before vanishing nearly as quickly as it came. 

“No…yes…I’m tired. I just want to spend the day with Miu, okay?” Kaede grimaced at the notion. She hated being selfish. It just wasn’t within her character to make demands for herself. She always tried to think of others first, but she felt worn down and fed up. Rarely was she this personally self-indulgent, not at least in such a way that directly benefited her. Yes, Kaede usually did as she pleased without second-thought of where other’s stood on it, at best she would rally the troops with an inspiring and passionate speech, and if that didn’t work she would just go ahead with it anyway. Some could call that selfish, in a way, Kaede supposed. Personally, Kaede only ever wanted to provide a helping hand the only way she knew how. Sometimes she worried she was a bit of a slavedriver, enforcing her will without weighing up if people truly wanted to be helped via her method of choice. But somebody needed to take a stand, and that was the hardest thing of all, and who better to do that but the girl with limitless confidence: Akamatsu Kaede. 

That was only ever half the story though. Kaede was brittle. Easily susceptible to her own machinations and criticism. She wanted to make people smile, at the end of the day that was the only goal that ever caused secondary deliberations on a course of action. If she worried about the chances of success, or if what she was doing was right, she could find herself with walls closing in on her by her own making. 

“Kaede, are you stressed?” Angie asked, tapping a paintbrush to her chin she pulled from her smock. It was a surprisingly salient query from the usually head-in-the-clouds Prophet, choosing to come down to Earth to ask the Pianist the one thing she had hoped to avoid. She didn’t want to look weak in front of them. Kaede had her pride, and she valued it highly. That may come as quite the surprise to people who knew Kaede. She seemed level-headed, reliable and capable of thinking things through without falling foul of fallacies or biases. But admitting fault was hard. More so in front of people who leaned on her, who needed her. If she couldn’t do that for them, she felt worthless. Maybe if she told them the truth earlier, she could have saved herself the stress that had been building up.

But if she did that, they surely wouldn’t have use for her. Their friendship had to be conditional, right? That’s why Kaede became the class representative, to maintain order and ensure they wanted her around. Who else would want a sixteen-year-old piano-obsessed _freak?_

Maybe what Maki had said to her a few weeks ago had some merit, after all…

Kaede elected not to address the question, which probably drove a clearer answer home than anything she could have said. “Do you guys know where Miu is today?” Kaede asked, finally emerging from behind her hands.

The three of them shared concerned glances. Kaede hated that. They shouldn’t be worried about her; it was just a little stress. It would come to pass as everything did.

Much as she said that the lump in her chest was getting bigger.

“Kaede, if you need us to…” Tsumugi started.

“I don’t.” Kaede snapped, and caught herself, swallowing. “Uh, sorry. I meant to say: I’m tired, is all. I’ll be fine. Geez, guys, don’t make a mountain out of a molehill!” The pianist smiled brightly, a fallacious attempt to convince them she was perfectly fine without their support. It was a flagrant lie, the smile on her face plastic and hollow. Nothing more than a mask. 

She couldn’t have chosen a worse audience to wear it for, though. Tsumugi may have been _“plain”_ but she was perceptive. Kokichi knew lies inside and out, a master of their variations and implementation, and Angie had performed for hundreds of her fellow equally devout followers of Atua. She knew a performance when she saw one. 

“Uh, if you say so…” Tsumugi responded, failing to meet Kaede’s eyes. She almost looked a little hurt. That only made the lump in Kaede’s chest expand. 

Kokichi stared right through her like she wasn’t even there. The colour in his violet eyes looked faded, worn out and lacking for a few seconds. He was absent of all emotion, nothing but pure cynicism and scrutiny. Every second spent trapped under the supreme leader’s dissecting gaze made Kaede feel like there was a writhing mass of insects under her skin. All of them nibbling, biting, devouring the thin veil of the façade she wore on top of her, moments away from exposing her and the poorly crafted lie she held over her heart. The tension so thick in the air she could drown. 

Then he indifferently inspected his nails. “Eh, if Kaede says she’s fine; she’s fine. Not like she’d _lie_ to her friends about something important, right, Class Rep?” 

“Ah, uh, yeah. Totally…” Kaede trailed off, rubbing her arm in one of the tell-tale signals she was being dishonest, squeezing the base of her forearm. His choice of words were cutting, like he could peer into her head and pluck at her insecurity and uncertainty over the viability of somebody sincerely thinking she could be a friend, no strings attached. 

Angie said nothing but looked equally unconvinced as the rest. Angie was not nearly as combative as Kokichi, not usually, anyway. But she could quite quickly veer from innocent to deceptively discerning, a dark glint hiding darker inclinations behind her gaze. 

“Pretty sure the bitchlet is in her room. Probably smacking two pieces of metal together and calling it _“an invention”_ again.” Kokichi supplied. “Hey, maybe she can make me a new toaster!”

“What happened to the old Toaster?” Angie asked. 

“Well, his name’s Keebo and I think he’s busted. I keep telling him to make Toast and he keeps saying I’m a bigot! Can you believe that?! _Me?! A Bigot?!_ ” Kokichi protested.

“Yes.”

“Plainly obvious to see.”

“Atua knows it to be true!” 

“ _This_ is why girls are icky! WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!” Kokichi wailed, running off, crocodile tears trailing behind him as he shot off towards the common room. 

Kaede was thankful for Kokichi’s sudden retreat. If she didn’t know better, she would assume he had done that in his own indirect way of giving Kaede the space she wanted. But trying to figure out Kokichi’s antics and the motivations behind them was like trying to find a needle in a haystack during a hurricane. Sure, it’s possible, but don’t bother. 

Easier to land on the answer you wanted with that boy and head-cannon it retroactively, made for an easier experience with him.

“You two have a good day, okay? If you need a Class Rep, just notify me in the group chat. Or knock on Miu’s door.” Kaede informed the cerulean and white-haired girls.

“Okay, Kaede. Hey, would you be interested in helping me organise a murder-mystery game next week? I thought it would be thematically appropriate with Halloween coming up.” Tsumugi asked, fixing her glasses.

“Murder-mystery? Uh…I guess? What do you mean?” Kaede asked. 

“Oh, it’s nothing super special. I’d be the game master, and I’d randomly hand each of you out a role-card. You could be the victim, culprit, or innocent. We’d roleplay a scenario, and it’s up to the innocents to figure out who killed the Victim. I’d referee, of course.” Tsumugi explained. 

“That sounds…interesting, at least in concept.” Kaede afforded, tilting her head in thought as she tapped her chin. 

“It’ll be a fun way to spend the holiday together. I’ve put in a lot of effort thinking all this up, it took me a while to collate all the resources I needed, but I think it should run smoothly. I can’t wait to see how everybody will react!” Tsumugi brimmed with enthusiasm, throwing a fist across the space in front of herself.

“Do you…Tsumugi, do you have an entire plot already drawn up?” Kaede raised a brow.

“Yuh-huh! Several, in fact! I’ve already plotted out each of your deaths already!” There was a long, drawn-out silence that settled between the three. Tsumugi blinked a couple of times, face slowly morphing from confusion to shame and embarrassment. “A-Ah! N-Not like that, I didn’t mean it like that! I love you guys; I’d never plot your deaths! In this universe!”

“What does that mean?!” Kaede demanded. 

“N-Nothing! Just, you know, who knows how many parallel dimensions there are out there! Maybe there’s an evil Tsumugi who uses her fanfic powers and knowledge of writing to systematically plot your deaths out in horribly tragic ways!” 

“You need to stop watching that _Fate_ anime, it’s giving you _weird_ ideas…” Kaede mumbled.

“Atua is suggesting to me that the dimension you are speaking of might be our own…” Angie narrowed her eyes.

“I-I would never!” Tsumugi nervously defended, waving her hands back and forth. “A-Anyway, a-are you up for it, Kaede? I’ve already got Rantaro on board! He even bought fake blood to make it real authentic and spooky!” 

Kaede sighed, wanting nothing more than to give Tsumugi the quick answer so she could escape into the loving arms of her girlfriend. “Fine, you have my blessing.” Kaede said, breaking into her stride to signify the conversation was over. She felt distinctly Maki-esque, but she wouldn’t dwell on that feeling for too long.

Kaede padded down the hallways until she reached the open archway into the common area. It was fairly expansive, easily the biggest room in the dorm. There were arched windows on the right and back wall, a chandelier hung overhead- miniature, mostly for atmosphere, with a unique secondary effect as a disco light, made by Miu herself- with three long sofas, an armchair, coffee table stationed just to the right of the room, as well as a dining table to the right that could house all sixteen of them. The carpet was an emerald green, self-heated (Miu, once more) with a fluffy texture that Kaede _loved_ to melt into on the tough days by lying face down in it. Kirumi would object, as would Shuichi, saying there were better places to sleep. Miu would often add if Kaede wanted something _warm_ and _soft_ and _comfy_ then she should just _“rest that piano-head on these bad boys!”_

Vulgar as ever, Kaede thought. 

Just the way she liked it.

Growing blush aside, Kaede did glance over to see who was there and what they were all doing, part of the obligation as Class Representative was to keep track of everyone. But it was nice to simply take stock of what her friends were doing. 

If she could call them friends. What Maki had said cut deep, and now she was insecure over the idea of if they really were or not. 

It seemed as though everyone had gathered there for a day off, although the activities were divided into various different groups that shared little beyond the room itself. Kirumi was by the archway with Kaede, keeping a silent vigil on the antics of the Ultimate Artist and Supreme Leader, just in case things kicked up once more. Maki and Kaito- the girl had her back to Kaede, fortunately- were busy playing cards. Kaede couldn’t tell what variant they were playing, but she doubted it was anything with an extensive ruleset. Kaito would struggle to grasp with it, bless him. Himiko looked to be already dozing, Tenko was ignorant to this, babbling on about the lovely texture of Himiko’s hair as she brushed through it for pleasure, disguised as doing a selfless good deed. Rantaro was using the dining table as the base for his conversation, stood at the head with a map splayed over it, Gonta and Ryoma joining him as he pointed out various locations he had visited whilst sharing small titbits and amusing stories from said journeys. Kiyo was at the back of the room. Kaede might not have noticed, as he was stood behind a potted plant, body lanky and thin enough he disappeared behind it, but his height betrayed his intent and his hat peeked over the bend of shrubbery. She imagined he was happy enough to maintain distance and passively observe everyone’s socialising, as he was wont to do. It was creepy, but harmless. Kaede would let it slide. 

The final member of their class was Shuichi. He was in the space between the dining table and the set of furniture on the right, glass of water in hand. He paused; eyes hidden underneath his cap until he pulled at the brim slightly to peer a single golden iris her way. Most would ignore and avoid the obvious indications Kaede was stressed, accept her smile as nothing but genuine, ignorant to the fatigue bordering her eyes or the plastic smile pinned to her lips, but not Shuichi. Trust the Ultimate Detective to pick up on the minutia and the faint giveaways that not all was as it seemed, or as Kaede wanted everyone to believe. His concern was silent, a brief tug of his lips down and another shift of his hat. Her childhood best friend would have been able to tell something was off to begin with, but he was privy to a set of skills that only enhanced his analytic skills to a frightening degree. Kaede’s only saving grace was his unremitting faith in her. He always trusted her to figure things out, and not expose a secret she was _obviously_ trying to keep from others. If she came to him, different story, but that’s not what this was. He arched an eyebrow at her, seeking confirmation that she wanted his silence on the matter. Kaede’s answer was discreet, a broader, tighter smile and a wave of her hand to tell him the issue itself was being pushed away. He nodded, albeit sadly, pain stabbing at Kaede’s chest at his expression, and resumed in his movements back to Kaito and Maki right as they noticed his momentary pause. 

“Good day, Class Representative.” Kirumi greeted formally, before a smile presented itself for her and only her. “Kaede.”

“Hello, Kirumi. Everything okay?” Kaede’s fingers dug into the straps of her backpack, running their length.

“Calm as one can hope for, I suppose. There have been no fires to speak of.” Kirumi offered.

“It’s sad that’s the bar we’ve set for ourselves…” Kaede giggled self-deprecatingly and Kirumi smirked briefly at it. 

“One must take all the small victories you can achieve in groups such as this, much as I care for them.” Kirumi gestured a palm to Kaede. “And you? How are you on this fine Autumn day, Kaede? I have not seen much of you.” Kirumi’s voice dropped an octave in concern, an imperceptive crease of her brow coupled with it. Kirumi knew better than to trust whatever diplomatic answer Kaede responded with, but also knew better than to challenge it. This was more of a formality by this point.

“Oh, you know, peachy keen!” Kaede chirped, trying to maintain her usual cheer, rolling back and forth on her heels.

““Peachy Keen” eh?” Kirumi spoke with a lilt to her tone, the Maid was never so mischievous as to openly mock Kaede’s habit of speaking in a stuffy, conservative manner that seemed far removed from her own generation, but she did find it entertaining all the same. 

“…Yup.” Kaede confirmed dishonestly, and the Maid tilted her head in acceptance. 

“And what would your plans be then?” Kirumi inquired.

“Looking for Miu. I’m taking today off. Mostly. Unless you _really_ need me.” A flash of guilt crossed Kaede’s face, and she clasped her hands together in a mock-prayer in front of her bowed head. “Please can I leave everything up to you, just for today, Kirumi?” 

Kirumi brought a hand to her mouth and chuckled quietly. “It would be my pleasure, Kaede. Have a wonderful day with Miu. I believe Keebo is also in her room.” 

“Ah, that explains that then.” Kaede nodded. Kirumi seemed to trouble her lip for a moment. In a most uncharacteristic display, she decided to speak her mind rather than smother the pervasive thought. “What is it?” Kaede pushed, hoping it would be enough to draw Kirumi out from her shell.

“If I may, I believe that both you and Maki should…” Kirumi began.

“Ah, yeah, sure, maybe tomorrow?” Kaede quickly interrupted, tilting her head left and right in a manner both adorably and placating as she repeated the same lie for the fourth day in a row. Hoping it would defuse Kirumi before she got going. Kirumi hid her expression visibly falling behind a respectful bow. 

“Of course. My apologies, that was out of place.” 

Had Kaede been in a better state of mind, she might have taken the time to apologise properly and even insist on making it up to Kirumi for so rudely dismissing Kirumi’s suggestion- a suggestion born of concern, Kaede was not ignorant of that, which made the serpent in her heart devouring her sense of self-respect even harder to contend with. Perhaps it was better this way, from a certain point of view, as that would have only led to a polite and passive-aggressive cycle of the two of them trying to convince the other that the fault lied with themselves. 

“C-Call me, if you need me.” Kaede said, and quickly turned on her heels to make her way over to Miu’s room, opposite the common room. 

Kaede swiftly rasped her knuckles against the nameplate of Miu’s room, giving no opportunity for her girlfriend to respond before the door had been open, shut again, and a wild Kaede had been deposited like some throwaway package. Kaede was not about to allow any further interruptions or distractions prevent her from some good old quality time with the person she liked the most. 

Kaede released a beleaguered sigh, rubbing at her temples and turned around to the landscape that was Miu’s room. It was much the same as every other dorm room, a 16 by 16 room. The one noticeable difference was the _hottest_ of hot-pink paint that coated Miu’s walls and ceilings. Miu had insisted on it, finding the default crème bland, boring and decidedly uninspired. A horrible combination when trying to rouse the first spark that would soon give way to a forest-fire’s worth of ideas to begin working on. No, Miu needed something she could stare at fondly, something familiar to lose herself into. She chose the most prominent of the palette that adorned her body, her favourite colour. Bright, gaudy and superficially immature in a way. A childlike quality. Well, not that Kaede thought it was bad to be in touch with your inner child. Miu could be deceptively innocent at times. Prone to a temper tantrum or two, hot-headed (she wasn’t one to talk though) and enjoyed a sulk now and again when things weren’t going her way.

Again, not that Kaede should be throwing stones at glass houses, considering her own circumstances and motivation for retreating into Miu’s room, hiding and sheltering from the outside. 

Kaede was fond of the memory behind the painting of the walls though. She had found Miu walking through the front door with Angie, a number of paint cans carried between the two and a newly purchased paint roller and brushes. Angie was listing off some tips and tricks, how long to let it dry, how many coats to do, the method of the brush and how to implement it. Miu was, of course, convinced of her own competence and denied Angie’s assistance no matter how much the artist offered it. Miu bought into her own hype until her pockets were empty. Go big or go home, as she liked to say. _“Ain’t no point half-assin’ anything, Bakamatsu. If you’re gonna do something, better make sure you don’t regret not putting everything you have into it. Sure, it might blow up in my face and I’ll be left with butt-fuck nothing again but getting kicked down to rock bottom doesn’t mean jack shit when you’ve already climbed up from nothing to start with and your nails are still raw and bloody from the first climb.”_ Despite the hubris behind Miu’s words, Kaede found herself agreeing with them. This was before she was dating Miu, before she had even really gotten anywhere near as close as she would become, hardly even friends, but there was a pull to Miu that couldn’t be ignored. A polarity. Charismatic wasn’t quite the right word, because Miu tended to overpower you with her personality. Fairer to say she drew energy from the room instead of supplying it. Not a vacuum, but Miu grew and others shrunk in her presence.

Unless you knew how easily it was to cut her legs out from under her, figuratively speaking. 

Regardless, Miu couldn’t be ignored. And Kaede found herself oddly obsessed with the girl’s antics. She would always shove herself into her classmates’ ongoings, offering a hand or expressing interest just to get a feel for who and what they were. But with Miu it was different. It wasn’t just curiosity, it was appreciation. Miu’s motivation, warped and as poorly expressed as it was, was no different to Kaede’s. So she found herself watching. Taking an interest. Pushing past the barriers Miu wanted to put between herself and everybody else. Shone a light on the person within, tried to understand her on a deeper level. Figure out the complex equation that comprised the Inventor. Try and find the beat and tone to her melody, figure out the notes and why they flowed the way they did.

She wasn’t disappointed with the answer.

After Miu had separated from Angie, Kaede saw it best to allow Miu her distance. It seemed like a point of pride for Miu to do this on her own, and Kaede understood just how sensitive and important pride was to a person. Many would consider pride a weakness. A conceited emotion, a distorted self-inflated sense of self based on nothing but your own belief in your competency. Kaede didn’t see it that way. Pride was a strong attachment to an attribute or accomplishment only you or what you belonged to could claim. It was one of the cornerstones of identity, and as conceited as it _could_ be, many operated using it as their foundational source of motivation. Without it would be like being trapped in the middle of a desert, all directions nothing but golden grains piling up higher and higher until the hourglass is tipped, and you find yourself buried beneath the weight of the world. People like Miu _needed_ their pride to operate. Kaede also needed pride. An imperceptible thread already knitting the two of them together. Something in common, but something that would never really be thought of. Too abstract. Nothing Miu would ever think about since it could never have form to mould or shape into a practical thing. But she still saw it manifest through Kaede’s practice, through those clenched hands and unerring gaze of determination to make the day hers. 

Somethings were there and you never realized what they were, what the source was. How similar two people can be when their interests and directions can be completely divergent.

Every ocean spawned from a river.

Every tree an acorn, spawned from a tree, spawned from an acorn…

People were remarkably similar like that, no matter how you thought of them.

In any case, Miu had resurfaced some time later, ultraviolet stains smattering her leather gloves and a strip across her forehead, kissing her fringe a darker shade than natural. Her cheeks were sprinkled a similar colour, but for different reasons. She sheepishly asked Kaede for assistance. Kaede had never so much as painted a portrait before for fun, let alone partaken in smearing a friend’s walls for decorative purposes. Didn’t stop her agreeing to, naturally. That’s the type of person Kaede was. Did she know how to do something? No? Well, you asked for help, so she’s not about to back down now! To a fault, Kaede was predictable. Few complained, of course. 

Miu had submitted Kaede to her first innuendo that day. Or at least, the first that had hit Kaede a littler deeper and made her aware of her sexual tastes. Not just in general, but for Miu. She kept that part a secret, for a time.

 _“Yo, Kaediot, maybe we should strip, paint our bodies, and fuck on a tarp or somethin’ and make some art if you get me? Show Yonaga something that will give her a heart-attack! Shake her faith in the almighty when she sees_ that _monstrosity!”_

The image…ignited something in Kaede that she didn’t know was there before. Something Miu would later help her understand is what a “regular”, “healthy”, “sexually unrepressed” person would call a _“fetish”_. It had been hard to focus on the work after that, and the walls hadn’t come out neatly or evenly painted because of it. But Miu seemed to like it more. She really _“dug”_ Kaede’s _“je ne sais quoi. That’s French for something being fucking badass, by the way.”_

To this day the walls were still unevenly coated, darker and brighter in random, unallocated sections with no pattern, nor rhyme, nor reason. That suited Miu, anyway. Bright, eye-catching, strange, endearing, unique to her and her alone.

And pink.

Can’t forget about the pink.

Further into the room, down the left hand side was Miu’s workstation, first her desktop and its various accessories (multimedia high-definition speakers, soundboard, webcam, microphone, desk wide mousepad, soundbar and plug-in electronic keyboard because, and to quote Miu, _“You’re so fuckin’ annoyingly cute when you’re tapping away at that thing, so you may as well give me a show yourself when you’re here and have another reason to stop by. I can record it with some audio software. Can crank that shit out on YouTube or whatever for people to enjoy. Get rich quick by using my baby girl’s skill cuz we both know that crap will hit millions upon millions and go fuckin’ viral like you damn well deserve it.”_ ) and then her workbench right besides it where she housed _“All the cool toys”_ like her blowtorch and wrenches. Miu didn’t waste space. Some may think it was a messy environment, tools and blueprints scattered across the ground in a seemingly haphazard manner, Kaede even once discovering a Phillips head screwdriver underneath a pillow of all places, but really there was method to Miu’s madness. If Miu stored something, she would forget about it in the midst of the constant _Eureka_ moment that was her life and would swiftly abandon it to perpetual exile from her attention as she sought something else. Having them all splayed about, pinned to the walls, the ceiling, the notice board next to her desk that was meant for schoolwork, meant she was always reminded of the various projects that were unfinished and she could pick up where she left off. Small, unfinished metallic husks of unfinished projects littered the room too. Some were fastened onto corners, made into mobiles that dangled from the ceilings, and were melted and fused into abstract art purely for decorative purposes.

____

__

Miu was entirely unorthodox. Rather than find an obvious solution, Miu sought the extravagant. The confusing. The, frankly, detrimental method that solved the problem she had at the time and only ended up providing her with yet another to overcome. There wasn’t really an end to Miu’s work in the same way Kaede’s had. Kaede could reach the end of a piece, and there was a rewarding sense of completion and accomplishment at having put all the various notes into one comprehensive whole. The best analogy Kaede could use to describe Miu’s daily exercises was one of a novelist who kept writing sequels to a story that had long since finished. Of course, in Miu’s case, at least the novels were still good. Confusing, strange, written backwards to forwards, but an entertaining experience to be a part of. 

Kirumi had long since abandoned her cleaning duties of Miu’s room. The Inventor took offence to the idea the layout was _“unclean”_ and had expressed herself in a way only Miu could. The compromise had been to limit the number of volatile experiments Miu could work on within the dorm itself to save Kirumi work and stress. Miu had begrudgingly agreed.

And then did it anyway. 

Curiously, in the middle of the room, hooked up to a number of thick insulated tubing like one might expect from a server room, was a thin reclining chair. Similar to a Dentists. It was leather cushioned with a porcelain white finish to the edges. Kaede had never seen it before, so it grasped her attention away from whatever Miu was busy playing with.

“God damn it, now the _Great Tit Ratio_ in this room has dropped by another…!” Miu pulled at her goggles from her seated position by her workbench that she was bent over, expression softening at the sight of Kaede. “Never mind. ‘Sup, Kae.” 

Kaede could almost feel herself swoon. It wasn’t much, but if you knew Miu that last sentence was significant. Miu always had insults, dirty and demeaning nicknames for everyone. They were counterintuitive. On one hand, they were done out of attachment to the person and showed her valuation of them to give them a name at all. On the other, they were crass and offensive and aimed at maintaining a healthy distance between herself and others. Kaede was no exception but being called just _“Kae”_ meant a lot. Only Kaede was privy to something like that. A genuine nickname. Something quaint, formed out of nothing but affection. Nothing about her breasts or her piano skills or anything that could be harmful. It was sweet, like the first bite of freshly picked apple. A delightful melody every time Miu allowed it to slip free. Miu’s kindness was generally unspoken. It was subtle, hard to reach, hidden well, but sometimes the little things surfaced without rhyme or reason and you could see Miu for what she was really like. 

A wonderful person, a heart bigger than even her Gorgeous Golden Brain.

There was a something else, though. An appreciation of absence than presence. It was nothing special, but Kaede was self-conscious about a part of her body that Miu would universally target for its inferiority among all the female students. That more than informed Kaede it wasn’t malicious, just vain pride and inelegant posturing about her own positive attributes to detract and discourage recognition of the negative. It still didn’t prevent the old hurtful memories from surfacing. 

Kaede’s breasts were rather endowed for a Japanese girl. Smaller than Miu, because _of course_ they were, but larger than most. A fact not well known was that girls don’t always mature _evenly_. Some come out more _asymmetrical_ for a number of weeks or months. Most wouldn’t notice if you were relatively small in terms of bust, and the distribution matched if there was a discrepancy in size or symmetry. But larger busts attracted a disproportionate differential. 

Bigger the breast, bigger the asymmetry, basically.

Made Kaede an easy target of her bullies for being the _“Lopsided Piano Freak”_. Those words still stung, and she remembered how she would pack on layer on layer to try and hide it, tied herself down with wrapping until she could hardly wheeze out her breath. Kaede would sprint into bathrooms and hide in the stalls, hating her body for making her such a glaring prospect for bullying. 

Of course, things evened out as they always did. But the damage remained. And the bullies always knew that the cracks in her confidence remained because of it. Made it effortless for them to reduce Kaede into a sniffling mess. 

She knew Miu never had any intention of causing her harm like those people did, especially now, with how much Miu appreciated her, her body and her spirit. Miu was always trying to bring attention to her own magnificence, not detract from Kaede’s own. But it was a sensitive spot, and _“Kae”_ was a lovely alternative that Kaede cherished every time it fluttered free of Miu’s lips in place of everything else.

Hearing that the, ahem, “ _Great -REDACTED, very rude, Miu- Ratio_ ” hadn’t dipped because of her was also bolstering. 

Probably shouldn’t have been. But shallow compliments were good too, now and again. Kaede couldn’t much hide it, not with the bounce of the forelock that stuck up upon the top of her head. An ahoge, she believed it was called, although to her it was just an aggravating insubordinate strand of hair that would not stay down no matter how many times she brushed it. It seemed to have a mind of its own, and Miu had commented as much, always reflecting Kaede’s emotion at the time, being a dead giveaway if she did manage to cover up her usually blatant and honest countenance. It would bounce and curl into a vague heart when she was happy, go jagged like a lightning bolt when surprised or shocked, droop when she was sad and everything in between. It was practically a sentient extension of the girl herself, perhaps an outcropping of her brain. Some strange genetic mutation on the next step for humanity. The Homo Novus. It ran in Kaede’s family, along her father’s side, if that meant anything. 

“Nothing much.” Kaede shrugged. “Just thought I’d come hang out.” Kaede played with her hands, inspecting her nails. When she finally looked up at Miu, she saw something horrifying. Something that made her recoil, the blood draining from her face, and a silent scream rippling throughout her body. 

The headless body of Keebo.

“W-W-What did you do to Keebo?!” Kaede shrieked. 

“Huh?” Miu asked, turning from her workbench to regard Kaede with a muted reaction, brow raised, and forehead creased, jaw slack with confusion. “Would you relax?! I’m doing maintenance on him. I unscrewed his head so I could work on him better and he wouldn’t feel anything.” Miu stabbed a thumb behind her to a chest of drawers, on top of which rested Keebo’s smiling disembodied head. 

“Greetings, Kaede. How has your day been?” the robotic boy asked. Kaede released a grateful sigh, hand coming to rest over the slowly receding beat of her heart. 

“Oh, thank goodness…” Kaede said, feeling stupid for having jumped to such an insane reaction. Of course, Miu would never kill anyone. Least of all Keebo. Before Kaede, the android had been Miu’s sole confidant. It had mainly occurred because of the intersection of their skills, but friendships are usually fostered around likeminded interests anyway. So it made sense. “I’m okay, Keebo. Thank you. A little stressed.”

“I apologise, had I known my brief decapitation would worry you so, I would have asked Miu to put a sign on the door.” Keebo’s customary bright expression faltered, guilt seeping in. 

“N-No, don’t apologise. I’m not stressed because of you, Keebo. It’s other things.” Kaede said.

“Stressed?” Miu asked, one hand steadying herself on Keebo’s body, the other working the wrench searching for the fulcrum of a bolt that wouldn’t come loose. “Me being accused of murder aside, something wrong, sweet cheeks?” 

“Oh, it’s nothing major, just…” Kaede’s fingers bristled against the hem of her skirt, absent-mindedly falling into their old habits, dainty flicks and pressures into the flowing sheet paper design of the fabric adorning her legs. “A little tired. I wanted to get away from everyone for a little and spend time with you.” 

Miu froze at that, and Kaede knew well enough by this point that could only mean one thing. Miu was blushing and didn’t know how to process the dual tide of embarrassment and pride at being the one source Kaede always gravitated towards for comfort. She cleared her throat after a minute. 

“W-Well, duh, of course you did! I’m the gorgeous girl genius! Being around me is a blessing and enough for the whole world to feel better about its shitty lot, everyone loves to bask in my glow!” Miu laughed, but it was forced and stilted, nearly animatronic. It was pure compensation, and they both knew it. “T-The obvious out of the way, I think I can help with whatever ails ya.” 

“Yeah? What did you have in mind?” 

“I had asked the space Idiot to help me run a simulation for some new tech I had been putting together, but his worthless ass is, like, 15 minutes late at this point.” Miu grumbled, a dour expression pulling at her features, one of betrayal. She wouldn’t admit it, but the more time she spent with the rest of the group the more she came to like them. For airs and graces, she made it out like Kaede was the only person she cared about. While it was true Kaede was the most important, it wasn’t as wide of a margin as one might expect. “Either way, see the chair there?” Miu gestured without looking.

“Yeah.” Kaede confirmed.

“Lie down in it for me. I’m gonna show you something badass.” Miu said with confidence, pushing off from her workbench and rolling on her computer chair to her desktop, botting the thing up with a swift kick to the power button. A few beeps and whirrs later, and Miu was logging in and setting up some complex program she had designed herself. It lacked the flair of a Fujisaki Chihiro creation, but Miu was more about practicality than artistry. Kaede already had a smile on her face. She could tell Miu was excited, the bounce of her foot against the ground confirmed as much. “You mind, Keebs? Should only take a sec.”

“I am curious to see if your latest creation is a success, Miu. I am happy to participate as an observer to confirm its results.” 

“Bitchin’.” Miu nodded. Kaede did as instructed, lying down in the long chair. It was comfy, she could feel her weight already begin to sink into the material. The knots in her back became more pronounced, but slowly faded again from the cosy position. 

“Reminds me of the Dentist, kinda…” Kaede said. There was a devilish snicker across the room, Miu’s chair rolling over to stop next to Kaede’s reclined head. 

“Good, because I’m going to make you open _wide_ , take my _instrument_ deep in your mouth, and then say _“Ahhhhh~”_ for me.” Miu teased, stroking down Kaede’s cheek with her leather-clad palm, pulling a couple strands of Kaede’s hair between her fingers as they pulled away, kissing the golden locks. “Maybe I’ll even let you _suck_ on my _lollipop_ when I’m done.”

Kaede could only gape at her girlfriend, words completely and utterly failing her. Miu seemed pleased with herself, leaning down to pat Kaede’s cheeks, condescendingly, and then apologising with a small peck on the lips. In a defiant response, Kaede turned on her side, a puckered pout to her lips, facing away from Miu. Her retaliation would be the cold shoulder, even if she didn’t intend to hold out for anything longer than a few seconds.

The devilish chuckled returned once more, and Kaede released an impromptu yelp and _moan_ as Miu’s hands trailed down to the curve of her posterior.

“Ultimate Pianist? More like, Ultimate _Thiccy_ , because _dayum_ does my baby got back and leg!” Miu laughed as Kaede swatted her hand to beat her off. With a grunt, Kaede rolled over onto her back once more, arms crossed with a huff over her chest.

“Geez! Stop teasing me and get on with it already…” Kaede spoke softly, fluster burning like a fever.

“You got it, Kae. Let the show begin…” Miu rose from her chair to pull at both the blinds and the curtains of the room, drenching it in darkness. Kaede’s meagre pout slipped away and her lips pressed together in a thin line. She pushed up on her elbows to inspect what Miu’s intentions were better, but the darkness- apart from the light from Miu’s monitor and the shimmer of Keebo’s eyes- prevented her from discovering anything noteworthy. 

“What are you doing?” Kaede asked.

“Destressing you. I mean, I could do it the way where you _scream_ my name and your toes _curl_ …” Miu drawled playfully, Kaede’s cheeks dusting a fresh shade pink.

“Geez! _Miu!_ ” Kaede protested, weakly. 

“…But we have Keebs present. And as much as I trust him to not use his recording function, I don’t want to take the chance of having my sex-tape out there on the internet of me _only_ doing _vanilla shit_ with you. That’s reserved for the fuckin’ A-Grade _kinks_ and _fetishes_ that would make you, the prude Japanese version of Richie Rich, gouge your own stomach out in favour of your ancestors.” Miu continued after she took a moment to brush at her hair pinned behind her goggles. “To answer your question more directly, this is a little something I had whipped up with spare parts and a little programming. I wanted to make a simulation chambre to begin with, but that would be expensive, and I have _no_ fucking clue where I’m going to get holographic panelling or a motor-function inhibitor at _this_ time of the year with only chump change, getting on my knees and the promise I swallow _prettily_. I’m rambling ain’t I? Fuck. Okay, listen. Kaito asked me for a simulator so he could feel what it’s like to be in space. Like I said, kinda out of my price range. I mean, maybe not out of _yours_ , but that would kinda make me an asshole to ask my girlfriend to foot the bill just cuz she can.” 

“I’m going to kill you if you make _one_ more _“Kaede is rich”_ joke. Upper Middle Class is not wealthy. I did not live in a castle.” Kaede warned.

“Then tell me, did the Hotels you stayed at when on a family Holiday have running water?” Miu inquired. 

"Uh, yeah? I mean, what Hotel doesn't-" 

"Then by my standards, you're filthy fucking rich because none of the one's I ever stayed at did." Miu coolly interrupted. “Lighten up, beautiful, don’t be so uptight all the time. Roll with the punches. You’ll have more fun.” Miu suggested, the mirth retreating somewhat into something akin to honest advice. Her eyes echoed that, shimmering jagged cyan becoming harsher, darker. “I couldn’t make an actual simulator. So, I made the next, cheapest available option. Couple high-grade projectors, 4K resolution video and before you know it, I can basically project the sounds and sights of space all around you and trick your brain into thinking you’re actually there.” Miu explained. “He was going to be my guinea pig, but I guess he has better things to do. Not like I give a shit, you’re a much _sexier_ option. Ah, you get to be my first time. Again. I’ll be gentle.”

“Okay…” Kaede said, face burning crimson, ignoring Miu’s unveiled innuendos to the best of her abilities. “But I’m not an astronaut. Space is kind of daunting. It’s not gonna help me relax…I appreciate the sentiment, but…”

“Kae, babe, I’m not done.” Miu rolled her eyes. “It really wasn’t that hard to copy the base program and change the plug-ins and variables once I was sure it all fit together correctly. I set up a couple dumby programs for different people. Yourself included. So, instead of space exploration…” Miu pressed the enter key, leaned into her palm over her desk, and a smug expression etched its way into her features.

At Miu’s command there was a low rumble from beneath Kaede. The sudden sound, coupled with her acute sense of sound, nearly gave her a heart attack. The cushions under Kaede began to rumble and the upholstery within seemed to shift, a localised whirr and shift of something else within from one end to another. Vibrations crawled up through her thighs and lower back. Kaede shifted in her seat, trying to get a better look where she was sat to see what was going on, but it was too dark and nothing prodded or poked through the seem of the leather, so she was just as ignorant as when it began. False panels either side of the reclining chair split apart, brackets with projector-screens and lenses either side of her head twisted around until they fit snugly against the chair, covering up the hollow space. Soon after another rumble came from above, the panel decoupling from the chair and a soundbar audio system slide in place, just over the crest of Kaede’s head. The lights started shining brilliantly, flashing like a paparazzi photographing a celebrity caught in the wild. They were blinding, and Kaede hissed as she made to cover her eyes.

“Shine on, shine on! Shine on you crazy fuckin’ diamond!” Miu cackled, before inputting a few more commands. “Okay, everything seems calibrated.” Miu hummed quietly. The blinding flashes receded away, and darkness crept back in once again. Kaede was about to begin complaining, when the lights on either flank turned on, but much dimmer this time. They were a hushed lavender, pleasing and easy on the eye. Kaede decided against complaining now, rubbing at the burn in her eyes until her vision was fully healed and hers again. She leaned back against the headrest, still as comfortable as before, and found something quite unexpected when she finally looked up at the ceiling again. Trawling across the black canvass of Miu’s room was music notes. G Clefs, C Clefs, Octave and tablatures all across faded sheet music. Quavers and semiquavers danced, jumping and landing, kicking other notes off and away that disappeared along the borders of the projector’s span. Everything pushed into the same space, amassing and entangling with each-other until it became too jumbled to be perceived as anything obvious. And then one by one, a note at a time, they all begin to fall off into an invisible bottomless pit until the canvas was blank once again.

And that’s when the first note sang from the sound system above Kaede. Correspondingly, a new note dropped into view on the sheet music that shifted left and right, out of view and then back in again from the other side. Kaede was about to look up to the source, but Miu’s hands- Miu had obviously moved over in her distracted state- and secured her head in place. 

“No, don’t look away. Takes away from the immersion. _Watch_.” Miu instructed, and Kaede did as she was told, watching one note at a time, perfect synchronicity with the trickling sound like a babbling brook from above, pass over the whole room, delving deep into her ears. Her fingers tensed reflexively, playing the notes out of ingrained instinct. C, D, E-flat, F and G. Kaede recognised them in a heartbeat. Her hands had played this orchestra many times before. Even now, even with its popularity and ubiquitous acknowledgement, played and understood by so many it should have become dull and lifeless, she couldn’t help but admire it.

Beethoven’s Symphony Number 5 in C Minor. 

A classic. 

The notes were heavy and hard. They dropped like running water, pooling around Kaede’s fingers, dense enough she swore she could wrap them around the sound and hold tight to it. It crawled up and down her skin, and when they finally flittered off into the space by her ears her whole body shivered in a familiar euphoria of sound. The sounds and sights continued to match, notes coming and going and always plastered across the lavender-dyed screen that was Miu’s ceiling. It was bliss. Bliss and only bliss. All the stress she had been building, all the worries that wouldn’t stop screaming inside of her own head, all seemed to fade. 

A whole symphony just for Kaede. Isolated and trapped in the tinniest, most unassuming pocket of the world. A messy, inelegant world only Iruma Miu could construct, and yet it was like she had been lifted out and placed into the middle of an orchestra, a musical marvel where all the insecurities and pressures no longer existed.

But by God was it hers and hers alone right now. It was enough to make her cry. Without even a hint of a word needed, Miu’s hand found Kaede’s and squeezed to let her know there was no shame in being hit so hard by her emotions all at once. 

Kaede thought it was probably what Miu wanted, in all honesty. To know she was just that _damn_ good at being romantic she could make Kaede cry out of happiness from something like _this_.

She had probably earned the right to be proud of that fact, though.

The symphony played out its entirety, Miu’s hand safely bound to Kaede’s the whole way through. When it was finished, the notes dissipated into muted lavender, a low-level light enough for Kaede to make out the majority of the room, but dark enough she didn’t feel so exposed by her flooding emotions or the tears cascading down her face.

Most importantly she could see Miu, and her shit-eating grin that told her everything had gone exactly to plan.

"I think the results speak of my genius for themselves, isn't that right, Keebs?" Miu turned to the bodiless android who assented to her line of thought.

"Affirmative. I have noticed a significant reduction in the Cortisol produced by Kaede's stress. Interestingly, I have also recorded rises in Oxytocin and Vasopressin within Kaede's bloodstream...that would be indicative of..." Keebo continued, but something seemed to click within Miu, and she made a strange, strangled noise to interrupt Keebo.

"L-Let's not go any further! H-Hahaha! S-She's not gonna understand anyway, sooo..." Miu trailed off, suspiciously, but Kaede didn't care to pursue it. Kaede understand them as hormones, understand they were common during certain emotional responses, but was ignorant of the finer details and frankly, she didn't really care to.

"Understood." Keebo replied, neutrally.

“Feeling better, Kae?” She asked. 

“I love you…” Kaede replied, sniffling.

“Not what I asked…” Miu rolled her eyes, only to be pulled down, aggressively, Kaede’s lips smashing into her own in a bruising, but chaste, kiss, Keebo behind them all but forgotten. Her fingers curled into Miu’s shoulders for purchase, nails seeking skin to _pierce_ and hook so that Miu couldn’t run. They would accept soft pink fabric in its place for the time being. Kaede was an aggressive and possessive other half when it came to the carnal, traits most wouldn’t assume congruent with her personality, but when the mood was right, and she wanted Miu against her more than anything she wouldn’t wait around for foreplay. Of course, that wasn’t what this was about, this was thanks and a need to express that thanks where words failed. Fortunately, enough, Miu was happy to reciprocate, hands tucking themselves against Kaede’s hips and she pressed her lips back, momentary entry being offered as Kaede’s lips spread apart from her, hot and heavy breaths angled at the base of her throat. “A-Anyway…” Miu began. “Y-You horny f-fuckin’ piano humping weirdo…i-it was k-kind of a rush job and I only had that one thing planned. I don’t have any other tracks or animations loaded, so that’s all you’re getting, but damn, if you spread your legs for just _that_ , remind me to carry around an iPod or something…” Miu wasn’t good at processing, and she was terrible at conveying what was at the heart of the matter for her. If she could crack wise, and focus on her Talent, that tended to give her a platform for balance. Made things easier for her. Kaede was all too happy to allow her that. 

“I love you, Miu. So much.” Kaede repeated, pressing feather-light kisses around Miu’s cheeks, eyes, nose, lips, and chin. Worshipping every inch of her pale pink skin. 

“G-God! I-I get it already, y-you big soppy pussy!” Miu blushed furiously but did not move an inch to decouple herself from Kaede. Big displays of emotion, and admissions of such, were not something Miu was comfortable with. Nothing so blatant, at least. Miu was somebody who believed that actions speak louder than words, and she lived by that philosophy. Of course, Miu spoke plenty loud too, but that was besides the point. She seemed happy to remain close to Kaede and be pampered, so long as she pretended she wasn’t and was allowed offered her traditional resistance. Miu sighed, and leaned closer, until their heads touched. She gazed into Kaede’s adoring orbs with her own. “I-I love you too…you fuckin’ virgin…”

Miu was weird. Miu was strange. Miu was crass and prickly, defensive over everything, she hated sharing and she always found an excuse to bite your head off and contrast just how gorgeous and beautiful and sexy and intelligent she was to your own woeful inadequacy. 

But Miu cared. She always cared, even if she couldn’t quite say it like Kaede could. Communication was difficult for her at the best of times. Miu could never properly grasp the intangibles. She could only understand something if it could be given substance, material and physical property. Every single creation Miu every crafted was a solution to a feeling or an idea that had never been given that form or structure before. Miu could only be clear with her intentions and sentiments when she put them into the living world, instead of thoughts and words that hung in the air and never manifested into something she could touch and feel. That’s simply how Miu operated. If a picture was worth a thousand words, then a thought was a novel that was on the cusp of birth. And Miu could never let a single one get away, she hated the idea of wasting potential like that. And when she directed it healthily, constructively, for something so touching and personal for Kaede it made the Pianist’s heart blossom with love and affection for the Inventor. In ways even she couldn’t voice with her own vocabulary. 

But it meant so much, all the same. It always meant that much more when Miu pushed herself to do something like this, and with the words to back it up. Kaede could always feel herself falling in love with Miu again and again when she found the strength to go this far for the Pianist. And she needed Miu to understand that. So sharing those kisses, telling her the truth that Kaede _did_ love Miu was the best she could do with what she had available in that moment. But she was certain it was appreciated, all the same.

“Ahem…” Miu cleared her throat, hands moving back to Kaede’s own, fingers threading together. “So, feeling up for a bite to eat or whatever? Cuz I’m down. Haven’t eaten all day.” Miu professed. Usually Kaede might scold her for that, but the inventor probably knew just as she did that Kaede had also failed to eat a meal that day, so she remained silent on that issue.

“I’d love to.” Kaede smiled, and Miu, chivalrously, offered her hand and helped Kaede from the chair as they made their way over to the door.

“Umm…Miu? Kaede? May I please be reunited with my body?”

“Huh?” The two of them echoed in unison, turning to find Keebo still perched atop Miu’s chest of drawers, blushing, his eyes darted away in mortification at either his predicament or the scene that had unfolded in front of him with no escape. Either was a viable theory. 

“Oh, shit, Keebs.” Miu realised. “Uh, yeah, sure, hang on. You should be good to go, gimme a moment, Kae.” 

“No problem.” Kaede smiled, folding her hands into themselves by her waist, crimson scattered over her cheeks as she swayed back and forth, finally happy and without concern for the first time that day. “Take your time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and I hoped you enjoyed!
> 
> Since I won't get another chapter out before Christmas (fucking watch me do it now as I've jinxed myself): Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to you all. I know this can be a stressful part of the year for many, so I hope this surprise update might relieve some of you of that stress if you're experiencing any. Bums me out I can't go to Church this year, but I'm home with my family so I can't complain. I'll have you all who have shown me so much support in my prayers. 
> 
> I'm...not even going to do my regular rigmarole and diatribe given how long this latest chapter is. 13k is something I've never done before, nor never intended to do. But here it is all the same. We get a snapshot of life for the 79th class and, most importantly, their class representative. Every day like this can be a lot for Kaede, but there's more going on in her head than just that. Fortunately, even if they don't speak as openly as they can about their issues, Miu and Kaede are supportive and will always do what they can to remind each-other of that fact. 
> 
> Next time: Two Detectives? In _MY_ Hope's Peak Academy? It's more likely than you think.


	10. Set The Hourglass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shuichi is requested by Kyouko to meet her in their shared Talent lab. The truth of something sinister begins to unravel from there...

**_Calendar 1, October 16th…_ **

A Detective only lived to understand the unknown. To shine light on a conundrum and stitch the events into a comprehensive whole. The weaver of incongruent human events and prove to the world there was a connection.

A Detective’s bread and butter was the truth. They lived in the shadows, tainted and darkened by depravity and sin, a smoky halo encircling their head. Some embittered, sooty angel that had been confined to dreary alleys and to steep themselves in the messy nature of humanity. 

So, if it was a Detective’s goal to reveal the truth- any truth, no matter how beguiling or stomach-turning- Shuichi knew he had to turn the revolver on himself. Six cylindered introspection loaded with a calibre named _analysis_. 

Saihara Shuichi was unlike a lot of his fellow students. He thought the comparison might extend to the edges of Earth itself and to all its inhabitants, but the limited variation would do for now. 

Most people hid behind a mask. An old trick developed by Thespians to accurately portray a character’s expression where their own inauthentic replication failed. It worked so well because that’s the way everybody lived. Honesty got you hurt. Revealing your hand was a dangerous play because you could never be completely certain what the other player had or intended to do. Humans were known quantities, ironically, and that’s why they couldn’t be trusted to play honestly. Everyone was a liar, to one degree or more. The least egregious was to protect oneself. Selfish? Absolutely, but it wasn’t born of malice. Fear. That’s the essence of the thing.

Everybody was afraid of everybody else, and they didn’t want to show it. 

That’s what made Shuichi different to his contemporaries. Shuichi didn’t need a mask to protect himself, and he didn’t need to lie that he was doing so. Shuichi found it hard to look anybody in the eye. Even the people he was closest with. When he shared his first kiss with Kokichi, the devious Supreme Leader had to accept he wasn’t going to see the expression his lover made. Those were Shuichi’s terms, born from nerves and apprehension. Of course, every time after this Kokichi coaxed the Detective out of his shell, either through convincing, bulletproof rhetoric or the far more enjoyable method of simply removing the garment from atop Shuichi’s head and “throwing him into the deep end” as Kokichi liked to put it.

“Sink or swim” in other words.

Shuichi didn’t hold any pretences with his hat. It was protection. A shield against judgmental gazes and encroaching friendships. Keep everything at equal distance, avoid it all, and nothing could harm him again. He would never allow himself to be exposed like had done, with nothing to protect himself, ever again. But he was at least honest about it. It was there for everybody to see. Every little tilt and tug of his hat loud enough and clear enough to compensate for a paragraph’s worth of words. 

That’s why people didn’t like it. Because he was honest about his desire to shirk away from his insecurities. Everybody else pretended they were better than that. So when they saw him, somebody with no complexes about it being _known,_ they had complexes, they were forced to confront themselves. And nobody liked doing that. That was the source of a lot of resentment for Shuichi, made a great deal worse by the fact he could see through _them_ , but they couldn’t see through _him_. An unfair tip of the scales, one deck stacked against another, but those were the rules they were all saddled with. 

Wasn’t like Shuichi even liked playing the game, or the Talent had been born with, it was the source of his problems after all.

All his life he had been his Uncle’s protégé, his apprentice. For the beginning of his formative years Shuichi had only ever been brought upon simple investigations. Petty things, nonviolent offences with a mystery behind them ready to be solved. But he had always possessed a sharp eye and keen intellect that could pierce through the opaque curtain that separated the truth from the disassociated shreds and scattered scraps of a riddle where no answer seemed forthcoming. But it was only ever him that knew it stood between himself, the audience, and whatever was behind it. It was obvious to him, and so it felt like less of a Talent. More of an ability to notice than a Talent. That should have been the default. Nobody ever saw it that way, not his best friend, not his boyfriend. 

Years would roll by, and eventually the protégé had more than outshone his Sensei. His Uncle couldn’t hold a candle to Shuichi’s prowess. Against his better judgement, Shuichi’s Uncle recommend Shuichi undertake a murder case. Daunted by the implication alone, that had been almost enough to ward Shuichi off from even accepting the thing. 

In theory it should have been rather easy. Look at the evidence, follow the trail, put everything together, finger the perp. Justice. 

Oh, but the world was never _quite_ that simple, was it?

Now the _Second_ Ultimate Detective (if _that_ wasn’t contradictive, Shuichi didn’t know what was. Thank goodness the Romans were long in the grave, so they didn’t have to see their language butchered like that) was jaded and resented his title. A heavy chain around his neck that made every step like one of Hercules’ Twelve Labours. 

There was one small saving grace though, somebody who managed to spur Shuichi on to continue his Detective work. Somebody who had revitalised him and showed him the worth Detectives had, and how much the world needed something with latitude of movement and responsibility, but also restraint. 

Kirigiri Kyouko was perhaps the best Senpai Shuichi could ask for. She was blunt, but not without her dry sense of humour and personality. There was life behind the cold, pale-faced senior Ultimate Detective. She had seen her own fair-share of Demons, that much was evident. There was no hiding anything from each-other, it would be a futile exercise had they even tried. So, they had laid their cards on the table together and gotten it all out of the way.

Shuichi’s wounds were entirely psychological. Confidence killed brutally by his own success. Ironic, poetically so, even a tad funny if the macabre could tickle you in such a way. For what it was worth, though, he would rather keep that then suffer through what Kyouko had. She had asked him if he wanted to see, and he had foolishly taken her up on that offer.

His skin crawled every time he thought of it. Atmosphere and temperature so stilted and _chilled_ he felt the breaths freeze in his lungs.

Since then, there was a comradery and rapport that was entirely their own. Unique within Hope’s Peak Academy due to their position as the only students to have ever shared a Talent. Sure, there were other students with horizontal skills and Talents. Music, like Kaede, Ibuki and Sayaka, was a populated field, but everyone was specialised to their own unique sector that rarely bled over into another. You’d never catch Ibuki dead in an Opera House for a piano recital. Likewise, you’d never catch Kaede dead in an Underground Metal concert’s mosh pit as she _slays_ another guitar solo that shatters glass and blows people’s minds. But there could be some crossover, a duet or joint concert in which the acoustics suit a pianist, or the flux and fusion of wooden tradition and synthesised modernity could blend into something greater than the sum of its individual Talents. But nothing came as close to the mutual experience within the same title and position that Kyouko and Shuichi had. There was no distinction between the pair of them apart from experience, no place to partition themselves into a specialised skillset or style. They were two sides of the same trick coin, both heads, outlook was the only thing that differed.

Kyouko was quiet, but headstrong and determined. She had bottomless confidence in her abilities, her deduction was second to none and she picked up on the most obfuscated of minutiae. Sometimes she would describe it as the world having no Horizon. There was no edge, no peripheral, the whole world was always there. Every little detail laid bare and naked for her to ogle and pick apart until it was defused of its components and she finally understood how it worked. They were brief flashes of omniscience, light bending to the truth and shadows running to reveal clarity. Kyouko was strong, she had been through her tribulations, and whilst the scars would never leave, she believed in herself with a quiet resolve that never looked like it could be shaken.

Shuichi on the other hand was brittle. He second-guessed and questioned every conclusion he arrived at. He hesitated at the moment of truth every time, no matter how clear to him everything was. Where Kyouko could see all, Shuichi opted to shut his eyes to it. To bring the shadows down on himself and hide within them. But it was only ever temporary. It was a twisted, vile fate for somebody like him. Imagine you wanted nothing but to hide from a terrible truth, to live in ignorance and shelter from the pain it could cause you, but the very nature of your being meant that was impossible. You were trapped in knowledge, a haywire brain automatically clearing the board of its messy pieces and putting it all together, so the picture became clear again. No matter how hard you tried to hide from it, the monster always reared its head, and it was _always_ your own doing. That was Shuichi’s hell. To want to live in safe, easy-going, fantasy and be a Detective was a paradox that never satisfied. Perhaps that is why Shuichi liked Kokichi so much. He was a Master Manipulator, lies and deceit his bread and butter. He could weave them like words on a page, building a world so believable you forgot it was fiction to begin with. He could fall into that deception from time to time and almost forget to wake from it. Kokichi was an escape for the Detective. But he was challenging, and more than once he had warned Shuichi about running from reality. How much of that was genuine warning or just the Supreme Leader screwing with Shuichi was up in the air for anybody to catch, if they wanted, but Shuichi thought that was part of Kokichi’s charm. To him at least. He couldn’t know. An embodiment of a lie. But an indiscernible lie. A lie so perfect it may as well be truth. 

There were worse things to be. 

Shuichi pressed open the door into their shared Talent Lab. It was a segregated room, warning tape like a crime-scene divided the room into two sides, straight down the middle. On one half was the sterilised and bleach-white walls and cabinets of a forensic laboratory. Glass cabinets filled with drugs, vials, microscopes and all other manner of equipment. There was a cadaver’s table at the centre that had _fortunately_ never had to be used before, but as the name suggested this side of the room was forensic in nature. Any little suspicious piece of evidence; dried blood, strand of stray hair, fingernail clippings, smoking gun, bloodied knife, unidentified chemicals, scattered drugs, unopened letters, could all be contained and examined here for origin or purpose. Many crimes had been brought to light and solved thanks to the expensive equipment that made some of the scientific-based students jealous. Kyouko insisted it wasn’t the product of nepotism due to her Father being the Headmaster, but there was a catch in her throat when she defended herself and an uncharacteristic hesitation. 

On the other side was something akin to a library. Smooth carpeting, room-spanning shelves with files and documents neatly stacked chronologically and by case details. Major cases congregated at the centre of the shelving, whereas unsolved cases of importance were stacked at the base, closest to the floor, and either solved or unsolved minor cases found their way to the top. There was a fireplace at the centre of the room with two leaf-green armchairs on an exquisite vermillion rug. It was lit, the embers crackled softly, and the flames rose and licked higher into the air once a piece of paper was cast into the fire from the armchair on the righthand side. The dim orange glow of the fireplace brightened into a sharper yellow, and the roar of the fireplace gained several octaves. 

Shuichi crossed the room to peer around the chair. Kirigiri Kyouko was there, as he had expected, flicking through a creased and worn case file, eyes heavy and dark from an _old_ fight with an _old_ pair of adversaries he knew all too well- insomnia and obsession. It contrasted the pale lavender of her hair, so faded it nearly took on a ghostly white, matching her complexion. Her eyes contrasted this, vivid amethyst whose vibrancy was hidden behind a wall of cynicism and indifference, quiet and unemotive, usually. 

Kyouko crumpled up another piece of scrap paper- separate from the file her fingers trawled through, eyes scanning intently across the margins stained with black ink censoring names, dates and details that were too sensitive for any archival- and threw it into the fireplace again.

There was a shudder to Kyouko’s features at the wisps and embers of the subdued inferno, her hands briefly seeking each-other, crawling up the spine of her backhand as she fought for control of the mad look in her eye and shake in her hands. Eventually they fell limp against the case file again, but she was shaken, no doubt about it. The Senior Detective crumbled up the remainder of the scrap paper by her side and dropped it to the floor, far and away from the fireplace so it may grow no stronger. 

“Senpai?” Shuichi called out, gently, and Kyouko looked up to him without any surprise. There was a flicker of recognition, and she nodded to him before returning her attention to the file on her lap.

“Shuichi. You got my message.” Kyouko returned, glibly as ever. 

“You wanted to meet up here, but you didn’t say what about.” Shuichi prodded indicatively of a Detective. He turned his head to a nearby window, sky a blanket of darkness pierced by thousands of luminescent bullets in the form of stars. “It’s late.”

“Very.” Kyouko clipped.

“What’s that case file?” Shuichi looked up to their shelf, hands coming up to lightly pull at his hat as he inclined for a better view, but he couldn’t see any missing spaces which was strange. 

“Nothing of any importance.” Kyouko replied. “Or, at least, it _shouldn’t_ be.” She mumbled. 

“Senpai?” 

“It’s an old file of an investigation that was done years ago into a gang in Towa City. The gang focused on gun and drug trafficking. Some light muscle work for the Yakuza too, but nothing notable. Played a hand in a lot of the typical seedy industries you’ll find gangs are adjacent to: Racketeering, prostitution.”

“Seems mild. Dime a dozen Detective work…” Shuichi chewed on the inside of his mouth, looking down at the pensive expression woven into Kyouko’s face. There had to be more to this than just some run of the mill gang having been busted. 

“That’s because the UI did shoddy work or was bribed so they didn’t tip off the authorities about what the Gang really was doing.” Kyouko explained. “The Detectives and the Officers went in half-baked, not really knowing what they were going to find. Thing is, the gang knew they were being watched so they were trying to act innocuous, give the Police as little reason to use their Probable Cause as justification for a search warrant. However, they didn’t know when they would get hit. When they did, there was nothing they could do, soon as the Police took interest their fate was sealed. Gunfire was exchanged, three officers and seven gang members died that night. Most of the rest were arrested, pending trial, but a Detective discovered a secret compartment within their hideout.” 

“How long ago was this?” Shuichi inquired. “I haven’t heard of this case…” Shuichi’s hand came to rest over his chin and mouth, a sign he was wracking his brain for an answer. 

“Not so long it would have left recent memory, but long enough so that neither of us were anywhere near a Precinct at the time. Around ten years ago.” Kyouko answered. 

“What did they find?”

Kyouko paused for a moment, gloved hand flicking another page. It was dedicated to information on a victim, their picture was crossed out in red ink, only a pale grey figure of a silhouette to make them out. The basic information suggested they had been moved into a witness relocation program for their own safety. Kyouko tapped on the picture a few times, idly staring at it. “They found…a room. A room for…” Kyouko paused again.

“Senpai?” Shuichi prompted. 

“Child trafficking.” 

There was a strangled, choked sound that half crept free of Shuichi’s lips, his whole face blanched of colour and he crept back a step. 

“W-What…are you serious? H-How come I never…?” Shuichi began, not sure what he wanted to say exactly because there were too many competing voices all vying at once to be the strand he clung to.

“Deadly.” Kyouko replied, gravely. “Japan has a long, sordid history with human trafficking that it likes to keep under wraps. Korean women during the war, Chinese women have long since been brought over in the 70’s and 80’s without their consent, forced into prostitution with no knowledge of the language, and never so much as acknowledged by politicians, let alone given residency as the most basic of reparations for the crimes committed against them.” Kyouko all but growled, her free hand tensing over the leather cushion of her armrest. “Towa City and its local government would know it would be a national scandal of untold proportions if the story got out. Plus, the mishandling of the investigation would sever any trust between the public and law enforcement. There’s also the humanitarian aspect. Children were bought and sold, God knows how many times, and moved all over Eastern Asia. Maybe further, I would rather not know the details on that one, specifically.” Kyouko sighed, face falling from how tired she was, hand coming up to massage her temples. “In any case, the children were moved into witness protection. The City wanted it buried so deep those kids would never be found and abused ever again. Supposedly, at least based upon the details of this report, all the children found by the authorities are tightly monitored. They don’t want a repeat.”

“But…that means it’s over now, right? What has you so worried you’d lose sleep? And need me, Senpai? I’m not…I’m not sure I understand. Please, Kirigiri-Senpai, help me understand.” Shuichi couldn't deny he felt completely out of his depth. Every case they had worked on together had been exceedingly mild. Fun, always fun, something that wouldn't torment the mind or question the nature of reality when confronted with sheer, utterly wretched depravity. This was a level above the level above what Shuichi could even begin to cope with. But a Detective's natural curiosity spurred him on, and there was something about his upperclassmen that called out for assistance. A tragic loneliness that didn't sit right, something gnawing away at her. Shuichi needed to know what. Maybe then he could decide if this was all too much for him.

“Hah…” Kyouko chuckled, wearily. “I told you, you don’t have to be so formal with me.” Kyouko shook her head in something that might have been confused with amusement, had the scenario not been so counter to it.

“S-Sorry, Senpai…it’s just…”

“I know.” Kyouko’s voice softened. “You find it hard to drop your defences. I’m the same.” Kyouko hummed to herself. “Or I was. Before I met Makoto and the others.” Kyouko waved her hand in the space in front of her. “Never mind that, I shouldn’t side-track us with nostalgia like that. I’m sorry.”

“Ah, no, no, don’t apologise Senpai…” Shuichi held up his hands.

“The long and short of it is this: The Gang in question is referred to as the 48th. It’s derived from the street they were founded on in Towa. A bunch of street thugs with delusions of grandeur who made a name for themselves quickly through ultraviolent acts. It was thought that most of the Gang was arrested, very few got away, and for a while all their activities appeared to have ceased.”

“I take it that conclusion has been proven wrong.” Shuichi supplied, nervously pulling at the brim of his hat. Kyouko nodded.

“Sadly so. They went underground. I had an informant supply me some… _disturbing_ information last night, and I have been unable to sleep since then.” Kyouko admitted, the bags under her eyes started to make some sense to Shuichi and one of his hands fisted. “This person.” Kyouko tapped on the grey silhouette. “We have no name, no gender, no age to go by. All I have is a date of birth. 12th of May.” 

“Why are they so important to these guys?” Shuichi asked.

“I have no idea on the _specifics_. But the informant told me a suspicious number was being referenced by the few members of the 48th who survived. Being intimately related to the Police Force and Detective Agencies of the City, he knew the number was in reference to a Police Report. This one, specifically, and a corresponding number of _this_ particularly important individual. Case number: 673F-22NM. Witness account tag: 11037.”

“Why was this informant looking into the 48th?” Shuichi asked.

“He wasn’t. He just so happened to be geographically situated close to several Gangs. Proximity is helpful like that. He met one of them that had evaded arrest during the original sting operation a number of weeks ago by happenstance. I asked him to look deeper, thinking nothing would come of it. I investigated the report and thought nothing of it until last night. That’s when everything changed. The pieces started falling into place after that, and my concerns grew.”

“Well, it’s not much to go on, but it’s a start. Can you arrange a meeting with this informant? Maybe he can give us more?” Shuichi suggested, but Kyouko’s head fell in a bow, her elbows now rested on her knees, hands clasped ahead of herself.

“I’m afraid…as of 6:32AM this morning, he was pronounced dead on scene.” 

“What…?” Shuichi’s voice shrunk to a cold whisper, eyes dwindling, hands shaking. 

“He was found in a back alley off of…48th street. Coroners determined it was traumatic haemorrhaging from a fatal fall off a nearby building. This was supported by the victim missing his shoes, which were found to be neatly paired by the roof’s edge.”

“He…committed suicide?” Shuichi gulped, recalling such a ritual was commonplace when suicide was committed in Japan. 

“That’s what it would appear like.” Kyouko wiped at her eyes, sniffling quietly, but her voice maintained its typical steely tone. But she had the same cold breath and frozen space in her throat that Shuichi had, that palpable fear that froze the atmosphere in the room into a pure white death. “But the fact it was so soon after finding out vital information and getting into contact with me, and to have happened on 48th street, is no coincidence. It was a warning.” 

“They…know you’re watching?” Shuichi asked, but it was mostly for himself, rhetorically. 

“These are dangerous people, Shuichi, with a grudge against men and women like you and me.” Kyouko picked her head up, lavender eyes boring into his own gold. For once, Shuichi didn’t have it in him to lower the brim of his hat to hide from her gaze, instead he could only weakly match it. “They want the person in this file. For one reason or another. And they know I’m onto them. They aren’t going to make any loud or impressive moves like this again unless they know it will work.”

“Senpai…” Something finally clicked in Shuichi’s head. He had failed to home in on an important detail this entire time, and now he was kicking himself for it. Something didn’t add up. “Why are you so interested in this case?”

Kyouko’s lips smacked together a few times, but never did any words manage to leave them. Her lavender eyes trailed away to the case file on her lap, and she tapped the blank photograph a few more times.

“Shuichi…the person in this file. The person who the 48th are after. The person who a friend and colleague died for, is a student within this school.” Kyouko’s eyes caught Shuichi’s gaze again and he swore he had never seen Kyouko look so _terrified_ and so _angry_ before. “An Ultimate.”

“One of…one of us? Right now? Is being targeted?” Shuichi’s forehead dripped with sweat, more beaded down the back of his neck and his breaths felt uncomfortable in his throat like he might be sick. The thought of somebody he knew, he walked past every day, somebody he might have been friends with, being targeted by such an extreme group made him beyond nauseous. He felt violently sick. 

“Standard Operating Procedure for Witness Protection prevents both new and old identities being listed. However, certain factors and elements are listed within reports so that Beat-Cops and people on the bureaucratic level can keep track of them. The downside is the report _specifically_ has it noted this person is enrolled in Hope’s Peak Academy. Meaning anyone who could get their hands on it know where to start looking.” Kyouko growled. 

“And…if they had access to that file, and they’re not one of us, that means…there’s a mole?” Shuichi gulped. “In the…in the police?”

“More like on the Bureaucratic level.” Kyouko scoffed. “But yes, somebody managed to get the report into the hands of the 48th. Fortunately, it was the redacted version. So, they’re as blind as we are. The person they’re looking for is ten years older, likely wasn’t going through puberty at the time and have a different name and attire then they once did. It’s a game of cat and mouse, but the cat doesn’t know which mouse they’re after. I want to keep it that way.”

“So…I guess we’re ruling out trying to find an unredacted version and isolating the victim? We have their date of birth, and there are only so many students…” Shuichi posited, thinking there could be some validity to the idea.

“No. They killed my informant, Shuichi. They’re watching us. Every proceeding move we make has to be calculated. If we start trying to connect the dots, they’ll see us doing it and it will only put the victim in more danger. The best we can do right now is try and find the 48th and bring them to justice.” The Senior Detective said. Her junior nodded his head, not liking the idea, but they already had some information to go on. He could make a list within his own head and cross-reference it for potential suspects. It didn’t sit right with Shuichi not to do anything active with regards to the victim. They had a right to know they were in trouble, that something they had abandoned their original identity for had come back with a vengeance. But Kyouko’s logic was sound, they were already treading on eggshells and if they jumped the gun too quickly, they could put this person in danger. If the two of them acted swiftly, found the base of operations, tied them to the murder of Kyouko’s informant, there would be nothing to worry about.

Shuichi knew better than to expect that though. This situation was already concerning, and to think one of his friends could have been put through that hell, only to be yanked back into it again…

It made his blood boil.

Shuichi had a quiet rage. It had remained quelled most of his life. But he had his breaking points, and sometimes it would slip through the cracks. Not now, but he could feel it bubbling all the same. To do something so vile to a child, that was unforgivable in Shuichi’s book. He would do what he had to as a Detective, and as a person, to make sure the people behind this were brought to justice. This was his solemn vow that he made to himself and he would not break it.

“Senpai, if we’re not careful…I know Hope’s Peak Academy is safer than most places, but we do run the risk of them being kidnapped if we don’t take any active measures…” Shuichi began.

“It won’t come to that.” Kyouko snapped, fire in her eyes, fire that quickly fizzled out into a tired, sad expression that rarely ever pulled at her usual deadpan features. “I’m sorry, Shuichi. You don’t have to be a part of this. This is my case…”

“Then why did you ask for me to come?” Shuichi already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it for himself.

“It’s because…” Kyouko sighed. “Because I trust you. This is a delicate matter and there’s few people who I think have what it takes for this case. I am…uncertain I have what it takes. One person is already dead because of me and my decisions...I need somebody to help…”

 _Ah_. So that was it. Kyouko was suffocated by the exact same sense of gravity that Shuichi had once been paralysed by. Knowing you had such a delicate control over life and death, condemning men and women to punishment was a difficult responsibility to live with. Just uncovering and convicting one murderer had been enough to wrack Shuichi with so much guilt he couldn’t look people in the eye. Knowing she had sent a man who trusted her into a group who would kill him, something that couldn’t directly be her fault, of course, but felt like it all the same, must have been utterly soul-destroying. Shuichi couldn’t blame Kyouko for doubting her own competency based on that, but at the same time, he knew it was something he couldn’t allow herself to wallow in. If somebody, somebody within the school really was in danger of being captured by the same person, then they would need the legendary Kirigiri Kyouko to be at her best. 

“You have proved yourself to be a competent Detective, a nose for crime and…” Kyouko smiled up at him. “And you have a good heart too. It’s important that you don’t lose sight of yourself and what’s important. It can be so easy to be lost in the Despair of this profession…”

“Senpai.” Shuichi placed his hand on Kyouko’s shoulder and squeezed. He pulled his hat off, his full expression there for her to see. “I know what you’re going through. It’s hard. Tough. To be honest, to this day I still don’t know what to do about it.”

“Shuichi…”

“But Senpai, somebody’s life is in danger, right? We can’t sit about. A Detective is more than just a mystery solver, we’re here to serve the public in the same capacity as a police officer if the circumstances demand it. You can’t back down from this, just because it’s scary.” Shuichi proclaimed.

“But…he’s dead because of me, Shuichi. He’s dead, and he’ll never…never even know why he died. I’ll never be able to apologise for it…” Kyouko snarled at the ground, a rare sign of anger. Tears pricked free at the corners of her eyes.

“Believe me, I know what it’s like to do something you can never take back.” That caught Kyouko’s attention, and she looked up to him sympathetically. “What’s more, all UI’s know the risks of their job. It’s dark, and dangerous, and it rarely ever comes with recognition, but without him we wouldn’t know what we do now. Don’t let that be in vain. You know what that means, right? It means there’s more than just one life on the line, Senpai. If you give up, doubt yourself, then something…awful, will happen. And I trust you. You’re the real Ultimate Detective, one mistake doesn’t change that. I’m just an apprentice. Don’t forget that. You’re right about this, I know you are. I want to help you, and I want to help whoever is being targeted.”

Kyouko’s hand came up to rest on Shuichi’s atop her shoulder, and she squeezed his hand back, a grateful smile crossing her lips. “I appreciate that, Shuichi. Thank you.” Kyouko motioned to stand up, and Shuichi took a step back to allow her some space. She held the case file up to him in her hand, face back to its regular statuesque simplicity and neutrality. “Here. Take your time to read over the case file. There’s more to it than just the brief explanation I gave you, and the person in question the 48th are hunting. Maybe I overlooked something in my sleep deprived state. You might be able to glean something important.” Shuichi nodded his affirmation to Kyouko, taking the file in both hands. “And…thank you, Shuichi. Sincerely. I think this would be too much for me to handle by myself.” Kyouko smiled again.

“Of course, Senpai. What are partners for?” Shuichi held out his hand for her, and she met him without pause or resistance, shaking his hand firmly. 

“Agreed. Partner.”

A Detective only lived to understand the unknown. To shine light on a conundrum and stitch the events into a comprehensive whole. The weaver of incongruent human events and prove to the world there was a connection.

If all that were true, if Shuichi truly did believe that, then he had one Hell of a case on his hands. He still doubted himself. Still knew he would struggle and second-guess himself. But he had to remain strong. For the Victim. For Kyouko. There was more at stake here than just his self-belief. 

For better or worse, Shuichi was a part of this case, working alongside Kirigiri Kyouko. And he would find the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Did somebody ask for plot? No? Well, sorry it had to be so dark. This was the basic sprinklings of Shuichi and Kyouko's story, which will be secondary to everyone else, but they have their own investigation going on in the background. One of the student's among them is the target of unsavoury individuals, and as the greatest pair of Detectives in the world, it's up to them to find out why and put a stop to it. 
> 
> There isn't too much in the way of characterisation. They're pretty much as they appear in game, with the two of them having the benefit of already having grown personally from being around people who helped them form bonds. Because of that, and their talent as Detectives, they trust each-other a lot since they could so easily see through each-other if they tried to hide something. 
> 
> Shuichi very much looks up to Kyouko. He sees her as something like an ideal, and to see her so shaken hits him pretty hard. Enough to motivate him to produce a rousing speech in the hopes it will reinvigorate her. He can relate to what she's going through, so he can speak from experience. I used the honorific of "Senpai" throughout since there is no real English equivalent that works well and it makes sense for Shuichi to be that formal and timid about standing on the same level as Kyouko by using her name.
> 
> Next time: Mikan and Junko go clothes shopping, except it's DEFINITELY not a date. Definitely. Don't question it.


End file.
